


permanent ink

by wynsolstice



Series: Ink Stains [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Panic Attacks, Pining, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Short, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Underage Kissing, Underage Relationship(s), Underage Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:04:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynsolstice/pseuds/wynsolstice
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri had two soulmate marks.The first was the words Stammi Vicino scripted right over his heart in beautiful lettering. The second was a pair of wings curled against his shoulder blades and down his back in arching, florid strokes. The former belonged to five-time gold medalist, Viktor Nikiforov. The latter belonged to his protégée, who was making his Senior debut the next year- Yuri Plisetsky, who tried to cut his soulmark off a year before meeting him.Chinese translation!- last edit/revision: all chapters on 20/2/17 for TYPOS & GRAMMAR only





	1. Le Parfum des Fleurs

When Yuri Plisetsky was fourteen years old, he took a knife to his soulmark. 

He wasn't sure why he did it. Something about the weight of the blade in his hands made him feel empowered, as if he could control whether or not he had a soulmate with it. 

He might have been trying to just inflict pain on himself, though. The lines tended to blur back then, and if he's being honest, they still did now. 

Regardless of the reasoning behind it, he barely got far before Viktor walked in on him. And Yuri had never seen a face quite as terrifying as the one he had the pleasure of witnessing that day once realization struck Viktor's face. The knife had been ripped out of his hands and thrown across the room in a matter of seconds, and it hit the lockers across from him with a loud bang that made him flinch in spite of himself.

 _"What are you doing?!"_ Viktor Nikiforov never shouted. He barely spoke louder than his normal voice, even when he was excited. But his shout, Yuri decided in that moment, was terrifying.

Yuri was distinctly aware of his burning soulmark- the blood curled down his bare spine in thick streams and pooled, hot, underneath of him. It had felt nice to have power over himself, even if he hadn't gotten far, the blade just scraping past the edge of the black ink before it had been forcefully removed.

When he met Viktor's eyes, he saw two raging irises demanding answers. Of course he was mad, Yakov would be pissed and he was supposed to be working on his senior debut. Yuri didn't have time to be messing around like this, especially not when Viktor was choreographing his program for him.

He was too numb to reply, but Viktor must have found some kind of answer, because he wordlessly left the locker room, only to return a few minutes later with a first aid kid and towels. 

Yuri could only stare at his trembling hands numbly as the man stitched up the deep scratches in his shoulder and applied disinfectant. The needle dipping through his flesh was careful, just barely skimming over it as if Viktor was afraid he might shatter Yuri if he pushed too hard.

Yuri gritted his teeth. He would much rather he shattered. He didn't want to have his purpose, his reason for being in the hands of somebody else, he didn't want to have to _rely_  on anyone. He just wanted to skate and beat Viktor Nikiforov at his own game.

Still, he felt somehow cajoled when Viktor finished cleaning the wound and bandaged it. He allowed Viktor to change him into clothes that weren't covered in blood if only because he didn't have the strength to fight him. Viktor's jacket was far too big, but it brought a kind of eerie comfort.

His shoulder ached. It relinquished the need he usually had to claw at it with his fingernails.

His mark, compared to others, was big. It was attention-seeking and screamed at him everytime he saw it, even though it was on his back. Just catching a glimpse of the ink curling over his rib cage made him see red. And it constantly itched, demanding his attention.

He hated it.

Viktor called his parents afterwards while he sat by silently, and Yuri was convinced that he had told them exactly what had happened. He could only imagine the disgust and horor on his mother's face. She had always told him his mark was beautiful. She had always lied.

Viktor spoke in rushed, soft Russian for over an hour. His voice grew louder at certain points, and there was a lot of cursing in the middle with his name in it, but otherwise it might as well have been Arabic. 

When Viktor finally hung up he looked exhausted, but he still had the irritating patience required to smile at Yuri. The edges of it were frayed though, and it lacked its usual luster. That was the only difference.

"You'll be moving in with me for the rest of the season," Viktor told Yuri, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him off of the bench. His legs were surprisingly stiff, as if he hadn't walked in years. "We're going to drop by your house and pack up your things, but you can sleep in my room tonight and I'll take the couch. I usually pass out there anyways, and Makkachin doesn't mind cats, so you can bring Misha over, if you want."

Yuri only heard about half of what he said, because he was talking ridiculously fast, but what he did catch made him glance up with a frown, pulling his arm free. "...What?"

"You're moving in with me, Yura." Viktor's tone left no room for argument as he folded his arms across his chest. "I can't trust you not to pull a stunt like this on your own, since your grandfather is ill and can't watch over you himself."

Yuri snapped out of the numbness then, and anger rose in his chest as he stood up and narrowed his eyes. "You're kidding, right? I'm not moving in with _you_ , you can barely function as an adult! No way in hell-"

Viktor took one step forward with a look in his eyes that said he wanted to do nothing more than hit him. Involuntarily, Yuri stumbled back a step, and that seemed to wipe the anger off of the other Russian's face in a half second as he sighed and turned around.

"You can complain all you want," Viktor called over his shoulder, "but you don't have a choice. I have written consent from both your grandfather and your mother on my phone. So you're staying with me whether you like it or not."

 _Grandpa?_  His grandfather had agreed to this? The betrayal struck him like a bullet and Yuri shrunk back as if hit. What had Viktor told him? Did his grandfather think less of him now? Would he stop coming to his competitions?

"Hurry up," Viktor said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "If we get your things moved in fast, I can take you out to get piroshkis before dark."

And thus, Yuri Plisetsky moved in with Viktor Nikiforov. It was by no means a friendly partnership- just a month after things had settled down, Yuri left hatemail in the form of sticky notes on Viktor's fridge and his things were scattered all over the brand new, two-bedroom apartment. His cat left pawprints on the counters and Viktor constantly had to keep guard of the door because Yuri kept trying to sneak out and run away to his grandfather's in the middle of the night.

Yuri was allowed to call his grandfather whenever he wanted, but he rarely picked up. His increasing frustration was displayed in storming around, slammed doors, replaced walls, and neighbors calling in complaints. He also ate literally everything in the house within the first two days.

Viktor had never been more exhausted in his life.

"I was never like this at his age!" Viktor had draped himself over the side of the rink pathetically as he watched Mila practice loops, his hair falling in his face. "I haven't gotten any sleep. In between making runs to the grocery store, calling the repairman, and playing watchdog all night, I barely have time to skate."

He wasn't exaggerating (as Viktor often did), as he had dark circles under his eyes and he was barely standing upright throughout the entire practice session. Yakov had finally told him to take a break and instead started running over techniques with Yuri on the other side of the rink.

"You did take him into your own house," Mila pointed out, but her voice was sympathetic. She skated over to his side and patted his head with a small smile. "He's going through a lot. Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yes!" Viktor's cry was desperate as he draped himself impossibly further over the edge. "He keeps slamming the door on me. He even replaced the doorknob with one only he has the key to. Seriously, if he's going to start doing repairs, he could start with the hole in the walls...."

"Oh, Viktor," Mila soothed, stifling a grin. "Are you regretting your decision?"

Viktor frowned to himself, turning his gaze to the blond as he landed a quadruple Salchow effortlessly. He could see the grit in his teeth as it jarred his shoulder. There was nothing that he wouldn't do to improve, even if it meant physically harming himself - and separating himself from his soulmate.

Subconsciously, Viktor's fingers flitted to his own mark that rested just over his heart, the black ink curling over his collarbone gently. Just doing so made him feel more connected to his soulmate, who was undoubtedly out there waiting for him- it gave him strength, courage.

He couldn't imagine what had made Yuri try and cut his off that time. And that was why...

"No, I don't regret it." Viktor sighed, blowing his hair out of his face as his hand dropped from his mark. "I just wish he'd open up instead of chaining himself down. He's obsessed with improving, but he keeps holding himself back by doing this to himself."

"You're talking about his soulmate, aren't you?"

Viktor looked up at her, surprised. The only people who knew about the incident were Yuri's mother and grandfather, Yakov, and himself. Had she found out somehow? But Mila seemed oblivious as she skated off of the bar and onto the ice again. 

"That boy hides his mark better than anyone I know. Either he's keeping it to himself because he's embarassed, or he just straight up doesn't have one." Mila frowned slightly as she looked back to Viktor. "Has he mentioned it to you?"

Viktor paused, biting on his lower lip thoughtfully. He hadn't considered Yuri being embarrassed, and he doubted that was the case, but maybe he _did_  know his soulmate and hated them, or something. Viktor sighed for the hundredth time that day as he shook his head. It was like trying to solve a crossword puzzle without any clues.

"No, he hasn't said anything, like I said." 

"I see." Mila skated to a halt and seemed to scrutinize Viktor for a moment before smiling. "You know, Viktor, you must really care about Plisetsky."

"Why do you say that?"

"You've done nothing but worry about him for months!" She laughed and patted him on the head, but it did little to comfort. "He ought to feel lucky to have somebody like you worrying about him. He probably doesn't deserve it for his shitty attitude."

"Yeah," Viktor said with a laugh as she skated away, but he couldn't help but disagree. 

He felt like he wasn't doing enough. He had made Yuri move in so he could take better care of him, but he was still the same, even though Viktor was frustrated and exhausted. Had it really been the right thing to do?

 _I hope so_ , he thought dryly as he made his way back to the rink. _He's too young to be falling apart on the ice._

* * *

"Yura! Get out here- I have food."

"It better be some damn pirozhki!" Yuri yelled as he crawled out of his cave and slammed the door. "It's been way too long since I've had them, and grandpa used to make them all the time."

"You poor thing," Viktor lamented, grinning at Yuri's shit eating look. "Isn't it your lucky day? I just happened to buy some, but you're going to have to help me make them."

"Huh. Fuck that, I'll just wait- "

"Nope!" Viktor thrusted an apron in his arms before Yuri could storm off and patted his head. "You don't help, you don't eat. House rules."

"Those weren't the house rules yesterday," Yuri grumbled as he begrudgingly put on the apron and pulled his hair back into a simple half-ponytail so it wasn't in his face. Viktor grinned, finding the display rather adorable in spite of his sour face.

"I pay rent. I can change house rules whenever I want." Viktor pulled out a large bowl and started unpacking the groceries. He handed the milk, sugar, and yeast to Yuri as well as a small bowl. "I haven't warmed the milk, so put about a two- "

"Two cups, pour a half a cup of warmed milk mixed with a tablespoon of sugar and a tablespoon of yeast, I know," Yuri cut him off dismissively, taking the bowl and measuring out two cups of milk into a measuring cup before microwaving it.

"Oh, okay. You're the pro." Viktor stifled a laugh as he set to work melting the butter, seeing as Yuri seemed to have everything under control.

"Laugh at me and I'll leave, dinner or not. I'll make my own damn pirozhki."

"Gotcha. You do your damn pirozhki, I'll do mine." 

They settled into a comfortable silence as Yuri did as instructed, and then added the egg, salt, and melted butter. It took two pairs of hands to work in the flour, and somewhere in the middle Viktor accidentally tossed some on Yuri when he put it in, which resulted in a full-blown flour war that ruined the kitchen. Misha and Makkachin were no help, as the former chased the later straight through the flour and they both got covered in it.

By the time they'd put the dough out to settle, the kitchen looked like a hurricane of white had flown through it. 

It was nice. Domestic to a point that made Yuri want to hurl a little in his mouth, but it still felt nice to get his mind off of skating for a while. Viktor was a moron, but at least he was a little fun to be around.

After cleaning up the flour mess, they both flopped onto the couch and briefly battled over who got the middle cushion before Yuri simply stuck his legs out and claimed it as his own, and Viktor retaliated by putting his legs on top of Yuri's.

"Asshole, your legs are heavy!"

"That's because they're stronger, Yuri." Viktor grinned at the way Yuri bristled. "Okay, okay. I'll put my legs on the outside cushion and you put yours on the inside, then."

"What?" Yuri shook his head. "No way. I get the outside cushion."

"Your legs are smaller, they fit better on the inside."

"Who cares! I'll be trapped because your lazy ass won't move your legs." Yuri kicked Viktor's legs to the back of the couch and claimed the front with his own. Viktor sighed in resignation as he turned on the TV and they watched a re-run of last year's World Championships (which Yuri accused him of watching only to stroke his ego, but he seemed to be watching more intently than Viktor anyways.)

By the time the oven beeped, signalling that the dough was ready, Yuri was completely upside down on the couch with his head on the floor and feet on the top cushiom, so battling over the center cushion had been a moot point. 

Viktor got to work making the filling with cabbage and butter while Yuri rolled the dough into individual buns, and once the filling was finished and seasoned they spooned it in and pinched it close. Once they were in the oven, Yuri had jumped up on the counter and was kicking his feet in the air, looking a lot happier than he'd been earlier, which relieved Viktor.

"So," Viktor said as he leaned against the counter opposite of Yuri, "are you still pissed at me?"

"Huh?" Yuuri glanced down at him, his kicking coming to a halt. "Pissed at you? For what?"

"Forcing you to move in with me." Viktor grinned as he used his shirt to wipe flour off of his face. "You've been pouting for a month."

"Oh. Maybe." Yuri smirked at Viktor's stunned expression. "What, you expected a few pirozhki to make a difference?"

"And paying for all the wall damages, apologizing to the neighbors, breaking my legs on your stuff...." Viktor couldn't suppress a laugh. "Teenagers are worse than toddlers."

"Hey, you're barely more than a teenager yourself, Mr. High and Mighty." Yuri stuck a wooden spoon covered in flour at him. "You were the one complaining to Mila all day about me. _'Oh, Yura is so mean to me, so mean... Hold me....'_ " Yuri made a display of pressing his hand to his forehead and collapsing against the cupboards.

"Was not!" Viktor started to defend himself when the oven beeped and Yuri practically threw himself to it to get the pirozhki out. "Don't burn your- "

"Fuck!" Yuri snapped his hand back immediately after grabbing the tray, nursing it with a wince. "Ow."

Viktor rolled his eyes as he pulled the pirozhki out with a mitt and turned the oven off. Yuri was running his hand under cold water, hissing through his teeth, and Viktor had to stifle his laugh in case Yuri hit him for it.

After putting the pirozhki in a bowl, they settled back into their original positions and waited for them to cool. 

"Viktor." Yuri's suddenly serious call made him look up in confusion. "Why _are_  you still keeping me here? I haven't done anything, and you just complain, so-"

"That doesn't make a difference," Viktor cut him off. "It's only been a month. Besides, your grandfather is too sick to take care of you, and your mother has work. It's barely a burden on my shoulders."

"I don't need somebody to ' _take care of me_ ', thank you," Yuri said with a scowl. "I'm almost sixteen, and that's old enough to drink, so I don't see why I need somebody to babysit me all the time."

"You say that, and yet barely a month and a half ago you were trying to cut your own skin off." Viktor didn't mean it- he didn't mean to make the statement so blunt, but he'd never been good at controlling himself, and Yuri recoiled as if struck.

"Oh, so this is about _that_?" 

Viktor wanted to take it back, but Yuri was already spitting at him. 

"Look, if I wanted to get lectured and nagged about it I would have come crying for your help. What I do to myself has _nothing_  to do with you-"

"Yes, it does!" Viktor had to physically restrain himself from slamming his fist against something to prove his point. "You're just a kid, Yura, and you're also my rinkmate. So forgive me for worrying about you trying to slice your skin off for some petty teenager's reason beyond my mediocre levels of comprehension as a reasonable adult."

_Shit._

" _Petty_?!" Yuri jumped down from the counter, his fists clenched at his sides. "You don't know anything, Viktor. You've been spoonfed bullshit ever since you stepped on the ice-"

"As if you're any different-" 

" _Stop fucking interrupting me_!" Yuri slammed a hand against the table so hard that the bowl of pirozhki jumped with an earsplitting clang that hung in the air.

Yuri was breathing hard, and silence stretched between them as he struggled to think past his own anger. He glared at Viktor as he thrust a finger at his chest, poking him right in the sternum.

"You haven't asked me a damn thing about what I think!" Yuri poked him again, hard. "All you do is tell me what I _should_  think. ' _Oh, Yura, just accept who you are. Once you find your soulmate you'll understand.'_  You know what? Maybe I don't _want_  to understand. What's so bloody fucking _special_ about soulmates anyways?"

The words hung in the air between them like smoke that refused to dissipate. Viktor was stunned- he had never heard anyone speak so cruelly about soulmates. Yuri could tell by the way his eyes were glassy and confused- it made no sense to him.

After a minute, Yuri turned around and stormed off to his room. "Whoever my soulmate is, I already hate them for making me like this," he growled, his words making Viktor flinch.

"Wait!" Viktor's mouth moved against his will, and for a moment Yuri's steps stalled, though he didn't look over his shoulder, shoulders braced away from him.

"What is it, Viktor."

"I..." _I'm sorry. It wasn't my place. Talk to me._  A hundred things he could have said- "The... the pirozhki...."

"I don't care," Yuri spat, shaking his head as he resumed his stomped path to his room. The door slammed behind him, and the silence was filled with static.

Viktor groaned as he collapsed on the couch and buried his head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. What the hell had he been thinking? What he said to Yuri wasn't fair, and when Yuri had tried to open up Viktor just shut him off. 

He'd brought him here to try and help him, but Viktor felt like he was only making things impossibly worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised on: **feb. 1 2017**


	2. Anastasis

The funny thing about time was that even when it dragged by, it still moved on. An entire season seemed to slip out of Yuri's reach. An entire season of him ignoring Viktor and Viktor trying to apologize without actually apologizing.

Living with him was beyond infuriating. It was... probably even worse than dealing with his soulmark, because while he might have been able to do something about the latter, Viktor was inescapable.

But he had talent. Jesus Christ, that was undeniable. And next to that, Viktor worked his ass off. He was born with a serious helping of talent but it was the hours spent at the rink that made it count.

But it also meant he was even more infuriating to deal with as the season progressed and he won more and more. Yuri was starting to get used to Viktor staying out late partying with friends and coming home drunk. Honestly, he was preferring it, because it gave him the apartment for a good few hours, and he could lock that stupid mutt up and let Misha prowl around for a bit and stretch her legs.

Speaking of which, he couldn't _wait_  to go back to her. 

The Grand Prix Final was exhausting. Since he was still in the Junior division, he won almost effortlessly, but that was no fun. And he was forced to sit here and wait for Viktor to perform his Free Skate instead of going to bed, because Viktor was his ride.

As much as he hated Viktor, he couldn't deny that every time he stepped onto the ice he became a lot less annoying and a lot more incredible. Throughout the entirety of his _Stammi Vicino_ routine, Yuri couldn't peel his eyes away for more than a few seconds.

The routine itself was narcissistic at best, a plea for attention at worst. The part that pissed Yuri off the most was that it had literally been composed _for him_ , because of his soulmark. It was a simple mark, smaller and so much more simply than Yuri's flashy one, and it was simply the words _Stammi Vicino_  in a fancy lettering right over his heart.

And the program was a cry for the person sharing that mark. 

So far, his cry has gone unanswered, much to Viktor's anguish and Yuri's amusement. A few fans tried, and a lot more did when rumor finally slipped that it was about his soulmate, but none of them were legit, just fake tattoos (or even real ones, poor suckers.)

It was all too amusing to watch Viktor get stranded like he was. But he did pity him. A little.

Once his free skate ended and cheers exploded in the crowd, Viktor's gaze immediately searched for him, undoubtedly looking to piss him off, so Yuri made haste to escape, trotting down the stadium stairs and out of the rink before the cheers even stopped.

Once he finally escaped, Yuri immediately leaned against the wall and lifted his gaze to the ceiling, barely noticing as the Japanese competitor slid past him into the bathroom across the hall. He hated how Viktor made him feel- like he was just something to be messed with, a stupid kid.

He wasn't a kid. He was going to compete in the Senior division next year against Viktor, and he'd prove him wrong when he kicked his sorry ass so hard that he fell to the ground. 

Stepping off of the wall, Yuri headed to the bathroom to wash his face off, still sticky with sweat because he hadn't had a proper chance to clean off after his own free skate that morning. He was just about to turn on the sink when he heard a soft sniffle, and something wet falling to the ground.

At first he was convinced he was hearing things, but when a stifled hiccup echoed throughout the bathroom it was all to obvious that somebody had holed themselves up in here to cry. He froze when he realized who it was- the glasses-wearing Japanese skater who'd slid past him just a few minutes ago.

What had he gotten? _Oh_ \- that was right. He'd gotten sixth. Yuri remembered hearing sympathetic murmurs next to him outside, about the kid who had flubbed almost all of his jumps and practically crawled off the ice.

And now he was in here crying.

_Pathetic._

Yuri didn't want to think like that, but it almost came naturally as he stalked to the closed door and sneered at it. It was quite frankly pathetic that somebody faced one defeat and immediately decided to give up.

 _I bet he has a soulmate waiting for him back home._  The thought pissed him off even more. What was this guy's name? _Yuuri?_

Really. There was no room for two of them anyways. Competing against him next year would be pointless if he was just going to sit here and cry.

He wasn't sure what exactly led to him kicking the door in- probably a vicious mixture of his hatred for Viktor, his hatred for his soulmark, and his irritation that he couldn't just wash his face in peace all bundled up into one neat package. 

But all it took was one kick of his foot and the door slammed open with a satisfying bang. 

_I'll get rid of him before he even has the chance to compete against me next year._

* * *

He had fucked up. He knew it before he even stalked out of the bathroom- he had made a complete and utter fool of himself. Everything inside of him burned, especially his _tongue_  for creating such horrible words.

The look on the Japanese skater- Yuuri's face was priceless, but the sick glee only lasted for about a second before fury settled in the pit of his stomach.

Once again, he had left his own anger control him. It had taken all of his strength to clamp his teeth shut and get out of there before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

But not without screaming _moron_  right in his face.

"Yuri, what's up with that expression?"

And to make matters worse, Viktor had found him. Yuri gritted his teeth as the older man looped an arm around his shoulder casually. He had never in his lift met somebody as touchy- but he couldn't help but get the impression Viktor was testing him.

To see if he flinched.

To see if there was an injury concealed by his jacket.

Well, Yuri wasn't an idiot, he knew not to injure himself during the Grand Prix. He had moves in his program that would send him sprawling regardless of his extraordinary tolerance for pain. An injury was not what he needed in his last year of competing in the Junior division.

"Get off of me," Yuri spat at him, shrugging Viktor's arm off and effectively ignoring his question. Fortunately Viktor launched straight into a lecture about his program, as if it even mattered, because Yuri had won gold. But Viktor still did it, likely because he had nothing to say about his own program.

All the way to the Grand Prix Final, and yet...

"You haven't heard a word from them, have you?" Yuri couldn't keep the smugness out of his tone, couldn't help the rush of pleasure he received at the way Viktor's jaw snapped shut immediately.

After a moment, the silver-haired Russian replied with a curt, "No. I haven't."

Served him right. Maybe he would finally realize having a soulmate wasn't all that glitter and sparkles like he thought it was. 

"But!" Viktor returned to his charismatic grin as he continued, "I'm beginning to wonder if maybe my soulmate is a competitive ice skater like me. Then, it'd make sense if they were ignoring me, because they're competition!"

"The chances of that are slim to null," Yuri said, exasperation leaking into his tone. "So can we finally go to bed?"

"Nope! We have to meet with Yakov first."

Yuri grumbled under his breath as he resorted to just ignoring everything coming out of Viktor's mouth. Half of it was cheerful bullshit and the other half just made him angry, so he'd be better off tuning him out.

Viktor's personality didn't match that of a professional figure skater's at all. He didn't take anything seriously, and if he did, it had nothing to do with him anyways. The only two times Yuri had ever seen him angry was when that anger was directed at him for his soulmark.

So, in conclusion, the only thing Viktor Nikiforov took seriously was his soulmate. Which was such, utter bullshit, because that was the one thing Yuri didn't take seriously.

No wonder they didn't get along well.

"Yuri," Viktor said, snapping his attention back with a stern look as they passed into the reception room where Yakov was waiting. "About your free skate program, the step sequence could use more-"

"I won, so who cares?" 

Yuri knew that Viktor hated when he talked like this, like he was invincible, because Viktor knew he was right. Viktor might have been one of the most talented figure skaters in the world, but so was he, and now he would be direct competition. He didn't care about this Junior division wrap up.

He was lunging for Viktor's spot as the top skater in Russia, in the world, and he knew it. 

"With an attitude like that you'll never make it in the Senior division." Yakov's voice was sharp as nails and dragged Yuri back to the present. Disinterest immediately painted his expression as Yakov launched into his usual post-competition lecture, picking on Yuri first thanks to the brilliant remark he'd decided to make.

Halfway through, Yuri slanted his eyes at Viktor, surprised to find to man quiet. He was looking at something over his shoulder, and then he suddenly turned around with a blasé smile and said, "A commemorative photo? Sure!"

Yuri turned to look at who he was gesturing at, and the world seemed to move in a dramatic slow motion as realization struck him in the chest. This wasn't some desperate fan like Viktor had thought.

It was the Japanese figure skater who'd been crying in the bathroom. Katsuki Yuuri, who shared a name with him.

And wow, if his day hadn't been ruined by Yuri screaming at him in the bathroom for no reason at all, it sure was now. It was all too easy to pinpoint the exact moment that his heart shattered to pieces- and of course it did, because four-time (coming five) Wold Championship gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov had just assumed he was a fan instead of a competitor.

Yuri felt bad for him. He didn't usually pity people, but he definitely pitied this guy. Both Grand Prix Final gold medalists- Senior and Junior division- had completely shattered his self-confidence.

Before Yuri could yell at Viktor (and himself), Katsuki Yuuri abruptly turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

Viktor looked confused as he glanced at Yuri. "What's wrong? Did I say something? Was I speaking in Russian?"

For just a small moment, Yuri had the pleasure of seeing Viktor make a complete and utter douchebag out of himself. And it made him feel even worse, because he was no better.

"Wow, Vitya," Yuri said, using the nickname as a weapon and enjoying the way Viktor frowned, "you fucked up worse than _I_  did. I'm impressed."

"Shut up." It wasn't the first time Viktor had said that to him, and it surely wouldn't be the last. It still made Yuri viciously pleased that he had gotten under Viktor's skin, and the feeling remained all the way back to the hotel. 

It wasn't until the banquet that Yuri heard of the Japanese skater again, and, arguably, he would have forgotten about him in the months after if it weren't for that.

The banquets were always boring, that was a given. Old people in suits holding expensive, dry champagne casually ignored him and chattered amongst each other for hours. Nobody interacted with Yuri, who was really only there because Viktor had dragged him there.

Even though the man never took his eyes off of the Japanese skater.

"Viktor, what the fuck?" Yuri's dark growl snapped Viktor to attention pretty quickly. "I'd never thought I'd see the day you pined after somebody. Especially not somebody like _him._ "

"What do you mean?" Viktor blinked at him with those wide eyes, as if he had no idea what was going on.

"He's a nobody." Yuri dragged the words out, practically spelling them individually for Viktor's comprehension. "Sure, he got the Grand Prix, but he bombed it. Rumor says he's retiring, anyways-"

"Oh, you looked him up?" Viktor's eyes sparkled dangerously. "The Yuri I know doesn't just Google random skaters unless he thinks they're competition."

"I don't!" _I felt guilty for screaming at him in the bathroom,_  he reasoned with himself, even though he'd never say it out loud. "I just wanted to see if he had anything to say about the world-famous Viktor Nikiforov treating him like a crazed fan."

Viktor's face dropped a little and he scowled at Yuri. "You can't make me feel guilty for that."

"Only because you already do."

Viktor opened his mouth to argue, but a low rumble of discomfort had begun to rise in the mingling business suits. They both turned to the source of the commotion, and their mouths fell open at approximately the exact same time.

"Viktor," Yuri said quietly. "Is that...?"

"I'm pretty sure that's him." Viktor sounded like he was fighting over whether he should be shocked or awed. He was currently both. "Wait-"

"He's headed straight for you." Yuri couldn't believe his eyes. "Jesus- get your phone out!"

"Why?" Viktor tore his eyes off of the Japanese man for a heartbeat to stare at him incredulously and Yuri shoved him. 

"Because you need evidence to file for sexual assault, dumbass!" 

"I don't c-"

" _Viiiktor_."

Viktor's head snapped towards the Japanese man in a matter of seconds, so Yuri pulled out his phone instead. Viktor was probably drunk, the shithead.

Still. This... this version of Katsuki Yuuri was both fascinating and horrifying. He looked nothing like the man Yuri had found crying in the bathroom the day before- his shirt was loose, his tie pulled off, and there was a dangerous glint to his glassy eyes.

And judging by the love hearts in Viktor's eyes, he was probably about to get laid, even though both of them were nowhere near sober enough to give consent.

And thus, Yuri was forced to watch over a drunken Yuuri and an equally enamored Viktor, making sure that neither of them laid their hands on any place they shouldn't.

It wasn't because he cared about Viktor. He didn't give a shit. Not at all.

He just had nothing better to do.

Besides, he had half a mind to start taking pictures of this stranger Yuuri instead of just watching. And when Viktor started taking his own pictures- likely to drool over later, the freak- he didn't bother with formalities. He could at least get some of Viktor making a total fool of himself for blackmail later.

In the middle of his poses for Viktor, the Japanese Yuuri suddenly turned his gaze on Yuri, and he couldn't breathe. It was like he had cotton in his throat, and it had a lot to do with the predatory look in those dark eyes.

"Yuri Plisetsky," Yuuri stumbled over his name, standing up and lurching towards him. "I remember you- you were the one who... who-"

Oh, shit. _Don't say it._  If Viktor knew about what he'd said to Yuuri at the Grand Prix Final, he'd laugh until he had a stroke. While such a thought was amusing, it was not how he wanted Viktor to die, laughing at him.

Fortunately, the Japanese Yuuri simply tripped on his own feet, losing his train of thought. But unfortunately, Yuri's instinct kicked it and he grabbed Yuuri under his arms, saving him from an unforgiving broken nose later on to go with his inevitable hangover.

He was stone-cold drunk. And everyone was staring. Especially when, when Yuri tried to let go of him, Yuuri simply wrapped his arms around Yuri's neck and clung to him lile a deadweight.

Yuri could feel every inch of his body as if it were alive with electricity.

"You're so nice, Yuri-" hiccupped the Japanese Yuuri into his shirt. "You were so mean so me, but I knew you didn't mean it. You're really nice...."

Viktor was now laughing so hard he was crying, and Yuri had a strong urge to throw the man draped over him across the room. But he couldn't, because for starters, he was much too heavy, and along with that, Yuuri was a little bit right... he was too nice for that.

Sure.

"Yeah, and you're sober," Yuri remarked snidely, and Yuuri giggled. He cast a helpless look at Viktor. "Can't you take care of him?"

"What's that?" Viktor looked over his shoulder at an invisible summoner before glancing apologetically back at him. "Sorry, Chris needs me-"

" _Viktor_ ," he hissed, but the silver-haired man disappeared without a word before he could finish. Yuuri glanced up from his shoulder for a moment, bleary eyed.

"Where's Viktoor?" 

"He abandoned you." Yuri tried to inch out of his reach, but the man just whined and held tighter. "Where's your coach?"

"He left me, too. Everyone's leaving me...." Yuuri's lower lip trembled and Yuri gritted his teeth as he came to a decision.

"Well, I won't." He tried to ignore the way Yuuri looked up at him with utter awe. "So you can let go of me."

The result was not what he expected- instead, the man only clung to him again and buried his face in his neck. "Yuri is so nice!" he cawed again, embarrassingly loud. "Yuri, Yuri... why do you have my name? Did you steal it from me?"

"What?" Yuri bristled as the Japanese Yuuri stepped back with a shocked stare. "No- it was _my_  name first-"

"Dance with me, Yuri!"

If that statement hadn't been pulled right out of his ass, Yuri had absolutely no idea where else it could have come from. Yuri stared at him blankly. 

"What."

"Daaaance. Wiith. Meee!" Yuuri grabbed him by the tie then, and pulled him up close, bending down so that their noses just barely touched, and Yuri couldn't remember his own name. "Please?"

Yuri didn't know who he was, or where he was, or why he was there. He could just barely make out a slight curling of ink on the man's collarbone- and realization hit him like a truck as he recognized exactly where it came from.

_Oh, fuck. If Viktor wasn't falling at this guy's feet before, he's going to be putty in his hands now once he realizes his soulmate is Katsuki Yuuri._

Despite this, Yuri felt a twinge of anger. He knew that if Viktor found out about his soulmate, he would be trying to bone him for months. Viktor had no self-control or sense of priority.

And beside that, Yuri had found him _first_ , before Viktor. The thought gave him just a bit of selfish glee, and he glanced up to lock eyes with the Japanese Yuuri with a challenge glittering in them. Yuuri's breath caught.

"Alright, I'll dance with you. Even better, I'll dance against you." Yuuri blinked in surprise at his words, but he pressed on. "If I win, you have to promise me something."

Yuuri wordlessly stared at him, listening.

"You'll hide your soulmark from Viktor."

There was a long silence where neither of them said a word, and then a confused, slurred, "Why?"

_Because if Viktor knows you're his soulmate, he won't skate competitively, he'll be obsessed. He'll go to Japan and leave me here. He'd be right._

"Doesn't matter." Yuri raised himself a little higher so he was almost eye-level with Yuuri. "Deal?"

Yuuri was silent for a long moment before he gave a fierce nod, his nose brushing against Yuri's, eyes crossed but focused. "Deal."

Yuuri released him and stepped back, but he didn't take his eyes off of Yuri as he added, "I'm going to win, by the way!"

"Sure," Yuri said noncommittally. He was not going to lose Viktor because of some stupid soulmate. "What're your terms, then?"

"T-" Yuuri frowned at the word before grinning, struck with an idea. "I know! If I win... Viktor has to coach me next year."

Yuri stiffened before frowning. His _coach?_ Viktor would never agree- except he would, because this was his precious _soulmate._  He bit his inside cheek before coming to a decision.

"Fine."

Yuuri wouldn't remember this tomorrow, anyways. 

"It's on, Yuri-who-took-my-name," the Japanese man said with a wink, and once again Yuri was blown away by the fact that this was the same person who had been crying in a bathroom stall.

"Like I said," Yuri spat at his retreating figure, "it was my name first."

Even though it wasn't. But he didn't care.

* * *

Yuri got his ass beat at the dance off. Somewhere in the middle, Viktor had shown up with Chris to take pictures, and somewhere near the end Yuuri had started grinding on Viktor and begging him to be his coach- and it was disgusting. The banquet hall was massive and yet it might as well have become a cardboard box in a matter of seconds.

Yuri had just wanted to escape. But his finger kept pressing, he continued to take those stupid pictures, even when the dance off migrated to Viktor and Yuuri held him like he was made of glass. Yuri tasted a bitterness on his tongue, but it was from biting it so hard it bled. 

Yuri would never forget the exact moment Viktor realized Yuuri had his soulmark. He had been paralyzed for about twenty minutes (and in those twenty minutes Yuuri had stumbled off to pole dance with Chris) and by the time Yuuri came back he had dragged Viktor off to some corner.

Disgusting. _Filthy_. Yuri threw up in the toilet that night and he didn't even drink. By the time he'd emptied his stomach, Viktor stumbled back to the hall with his neck covered in bruises and Yakov dragged them both back to the hotel.

Viktor woke up the next morning with a huge migraine. He remembered some things, Yuri came to realize after interrogating him, but he did not know where the hickeys had come from. Or why they were there.

And Yuri didn't tell him. Because he was selfish. And cruel. 

The encounter with the Japanese Yuuri at the banquet eventually became a distant memory- forgotten in the rush of adrenaline that accompanied Worlds, and a million interviews that sucked up his every waking minute.

It wasn't until weeks after Worlds that he and Viktor finally returned to Russia, and Yuri slept for a solid two days. 

 _"It's been said that you will be competing in the Senior division immediately next year,"_  said the off-screen reporter to a television-version of himself who looked utterly whipped. _"Does this mean you intend to surpass fellow Russian figure skater, Viktor Nikiforov?"_

To his side, Misha nudged him with her nose before ruthlessly climbing on his exposed stomach. Once again Yuri was watching the television upside down and with his feet in the air, so his cat loved to take that as an open invitation to sleep on him. Yuri didn't pull his eyes off of the upside-down TV screen, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

_"Yes."_

His televised self looked a lot less tired and a lot more focused as he turned to the reporter and fixed her with a glare that temporarily muted the reporters around him. 

_"You can expect to see me standing on the podium with a gold medal around my neck at the World Championships next year."_

Questions, questions- they'd come like bullets raining down on him, but the newscast had no time for that and instead cut to a recycled clip of Yuri as he left the building ignoring Viktor as he tried, for the hundredth time that day, to lecture him.

_"Regardless of whether Russian figure skater Yuri Plisetsky makes it to Worlds, we can definitely expected a tense season next year as he and Viktor Nikiforov take to the ice as direct competitors."_

"This is such bullshit!" Yuri raised his arm to hurl the remote at the TV, causing Misha to leap off in surprise, but before he could a hand reached over plucked it out of reach. 

"If you break my TV again I'll make you sit through an entire marathon of my gold medal performances," Viktor threatened, setting the remote to the side and returning to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. 

"Whatever," Yuri said bitterly, sneering at a telephone commercial on the screen. "Even your shitty performances are better than these pathetic newscasters."

"What do you mean by that?" Viktor sounded amused. 

" _Regardless_  of whether I make it to Worlds?" Yuri sat up and leaped off of the back of the couch in a fluid motion. "I literally _just_  said I was going to be winning gold. They're treating me like a kid who's making promises he doesn't understand."

"To be fair," Viktor said, his voice muffled by the oven as he pulled out the pizza, "you do talk like a kid."

"The only reason I'm not putting my foot up your ass is because your ugly face would get in my pizza."

"Flattered."

Viktor served the pizza and Yuri took his slice and promptly stalked off to go to the rink for practice. He rarely ate with Viktor, but it had been that way for a while and Viktor only mentioned it for the sake of complaining. As usual, he slammed the door behind him for no reason at all, and Viktor sighed so loud that Yuri heard it from the other side of the door.

_Pretentious asshole._

It wasn't until he had finished practice that he received the text from Viktor, but he had left so fast after reading it that it didn't matter. 

_Viktor: Pack your bags, Yuri, you'll be staying with Yakov! I'm running away~_

And Yuri packed his bags, alright. And booked the first flight to Japan. Because he knew exactly where Viktor was headed. Somehow, he had found out about his soulmate. That was the only reason Viktor would ditch skating so easily- and stop hovering over him like a mother hen.

On the flight there, Yuri found the culprit and confirmation that his ticket was not wasted in the form of a link Mila sent him with the caption of a shocked Emoji and Viktor's name.

_Yuuri Katsuki Tried to Skate Viktor Nikiforov's FS Program, Stay Close to Me._

Yuri was disgusted. He was beginning to become familiar with the feeling, and it was like an itch he couldn't scratch, infuriating and constant. He found himself scratching at his soulmark with the burning need to take a blade to it bubbling in his gut, but stamped it down long enough to recollect his senses. 

Even though he was disgusted, there was one thing he couldn't deny after watching, watching, and rewatching the video.

The bastard Japanese Yuuri was one hell of a figure skater. 

There was something about him that was unique and bold- the same side of him he had witnessed at the banquet months ago. And Yuri wanted to find out exactly what it was.

And drag Viktor's sorry ass back to Russia. 

And yet, it wasn't half as simple as that. Because Yuri made a series of bad decisions in the next twenty-four hours that left him here: making a stupid deal with Viktor and competing against the Japanese Yuuri in order to bring Viktor back.

He wasn't sure exactly where he'd fucked up. Maybe it was a cumulative result of him first revealing his location to Yakov through a damn Instagram post, then kicking the Japanese Yuuri through an automatic glass door when he first found him, and then finalized by him agreeing with Viktor's pointless bargain.

Still. It was hard to ignore the love eyes they shared, even when Yuuri tried to glance away with a blush dusting his cheeks. It was even more disgusting than the other times he had seem Yuuri or Viktor doing something gross separate, because now it was a joint disgust, and double the effect.

And now all he wanted to do was sleep. In between making a fool out of himself, being dubbed Yurio by the Japanese Yuuri's evil sister, and having to watch their incessant flirting, he just wanted to curl up and die.

"There's a tub for private use," Yuuri had offered when Yuri refused to bathe with other people, humiliatingly accommodating for both Russians who had abruptly crashed into his country.

He really, really didn't understand Katsuki Yuuri, even after encountering him multiple times. Letting out a groan of complaint, he rested his chin on his arms on the edge of the tub, grumbling to himself. 

There was the Yuuri who he had found crying in the bathroom- somebody who was lonely and weak. The one he had screamed at.

There was the Yuuri who had seduced Viktor in four hours and challenged him to a dance off and won by a landslide.

There was the Yuuri on ice, who was so many things: bold and loud and unique, who could enthrall an entire crowd if he just had the confidence.

And then there was this Yuuri, who had offered him a private bath and a home and food and hadn't given him so much as a bad look even when he'd cussed him out at the Grand Prix, dissed him constantly, and basically tried to steal his soulmate away.

Just thinking about it made his own mark burn, and he gritted his teeth at the sensation. It was unfortunate that he wouldn't be able to scratch at it now since he had to compete against the Japanese pig- _katsudon_ , as he was newly dubbed- and it would hinder his performance.

He sunk lower into the water, letting it wash over the black ink and white scars that stood out against it like neon on black.

A soft gasp sounded behind him, and something soft fell to the floor. Immediate, white-hot terror seared through his spine as he whirled around, pressing his back to the wooden tub and locating his intruder.

Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as soon as he locked eyes with Yuuri, who looked as if he'd seen a ghost.

Yuri knew without doubt-

He'd seen his mark. And not only that, but the white scars that ran jagged, furious paths along it, inflicted by his own hands. 

 _Oh, God. He was going to tell Viktor._  

Viktor knew about the one scar from his shoulder, the one he'd personally stiched. But he didn't know about all of the other ones that painted his sides and back like whip lashes from his own fury at his soulmate.

"What-" Yuuri's voice was fragile, moments away from shattering as he searched for words. "What happened to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised on: **feb. 20 2017**


	3. Terra Incognita

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings at bottom!

There was something about raw, unfiltered terror that made everything else seem so small in comparison. It alienated Yuri from his own body, made him feel as if he was floating in fear. His entire body was numb, and he truly understood the phrase, a deer caught in the headlights, in that moment.

And then he dared to breathe, his heart kickstarted again, and he was thrust back into his own unforgiving body, where reality stared him in the eye, and its name was Katsuki Yuuri.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" His voice was a snap, harsh against the silence that had flooded the hot spring. It grated his nerves, and Yuuri visibly flinched. "Are you a fucking perv or something?"

 _What am I saying?_  He wanted to suffocate himself until his tongue was too thick to form words- everything that he said made him feel worse and worse. Anger bubbled, thick and oily in the back of his throat, all at himself.

"I- no!" Yuuri stepped back, away from the towels that had fallen at his feet as he lifted his hands in denial. "No, I just w-wanted to... you didn't have t-towels, so-"

"Then why are you still in here?" Yuri couldn't stop talking, lashing out at this person who had come to help him and ended up seeing something he shouldn't. With every words he hated himself just a little bit more. "Just- stop looking at me! Pervert!"

What a horrible word. It felt sinful to slap that label on Yuuri, who had done nothing to deserve it. 

Yuri hated kindness. He hated it more than he hated himself, because he didn't deserve it.

"Alright! I'm sorry, I just... I'll l-leave the towels here...." Yuuri was stumbling over his words, a humiliated blush painting his expression that made Yuri feel a hundred times worse.

 _That's right. Soak in this guilt- once again you've hurt somebody who never deserved it._ He was a monster, wasn't he?

Panic hit him straight in the chest and suddenly he lunged forward and wrapped his hand around Yuuri's wrist, his nails digging crescent moons into the pale skin.

" _Wait_ ," Yuri gasped.

He didn't have to say it. Yuuri was frozen in place, a breath away from shattering in his terror. His body was slightly angled towards the door, about to leave, but now he looked like a sculpture he was so still.

"Don't..." Yuri struggled to find words in his white terror as he spit out, "don't tell Viktor. He can't...."

He couldn't know. He couldn't know that even after he had forced Yuri to move in, the scratching and slicing hadn't stopped.

The time Viktor had found him was the first time- of many. 

Now, he couldn't even remember how many times he had tried to cut off of his own soulmark, only for his hands to shake too much, or his blood to flow too thickly to see anymore. 

The scars littered all over his spine said way too much. And now Yuuri had full view of them. 

He would tell Viktor. 

"Viktor-" Yuuri repeated numbly, as if he had completely forgotten about the other man, but then his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. "But- he doesn't know about..?"

"No, stupid," Yuri hissed, digging his nails in harder until Yuuri winced. "He knows about the mark- he doesn't...."

He didn't know about the scars. The repeated abuse.

And if he did, Yuri feared he would tell Yakov, and then he would kick him out of skating, or at the very least force him to stay in the Junior division another year. 

That couldn't happen.

"Just keep your pig mouth shut," Yuri said in a snarl as he released his wrist and blood flowed back into his trembling hands. 

Yuuri seemed stunned for a moment before, finally, understanding flickered in the back of his wide, brown eyes. Suddenly he seemed a lot quieter than before and he simply nodded, rubbing his wrist as he struggled to find something to say. "Yurio-"

"Don't call me that stupid name," Yuri growled as he moved back and pinned himself to the edge of the tub, curling his knees to his chest as numbness washed over him. "And don't say anything either. Just leave."

Yuri had never seen somebody look so conflicted in his life. Two options weighed heavily behind the man's dark irises- to stay, to talk with him; or to simply do as he asked.

" _Get out!_ "

Yuuri flinched. He visibly shied away from Yuri's cry, as if it had burned him. Yuri relished the guilt that clawed at his insides and squeezed his eyes shut.

And so Yuuri finally did as he was told, taking a hesitant couple of steps back before stumbling the rest of the way out. As the door eased shut behind him, the real fear set in and Yuri could barely breathe past the fear in his chest, his fingers digging into his arms as he hugged them tightly.

 _What have I done?_  he thought through his terror, regret boiling under his skin. _He's going to tell Viktor, and I'll never get to compete again. Oh, God...._

Even the scratch of his own fingernails could not erase the fear and self-hatred just beneath the surface, and when he finally stumbled out of the bath and wrapped himself in the towels, he could still feel it burning, searing his flesh.

By the time he had clothed and closed himself in the bathroom outside his room, he was already scratching at his skin, long nails scraping at the flesh on the area above his hips.

Yuri slid to the ground against the sink, his breathing ragged, and fumbled around before he found first aid kit hidden in the drawers. Shaking fingers located the cool metal of the scissors and when they bit into the flesh along his back, he could finally breathe.

* * *

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Yuuri glanced up from the mug of tea his hands were curled around dazedly, eyes landing on the silhouetted shape of his coach- and soulmate, he thought distantly- leaning in the doorway with an easy smile playing on his lips.

But Yuuri knew better by now. If Viktor was smiling, it was because he was worried. Or hiding something.

Unlike Yurio, who lashed out if he was anything less than happy. And sometimes, even when he was.

Just thinking about him sent another wave of regret and worry down his spine and he subconsciously gripped the mug tighter, offering a timid smile to Viktor and inviting him to come sit.

"So," Viktor hummed as he settled beside Yuuri, "what's worrying that pretty mind of yours?"

Normally such words would have him flustered, and he did grow a little red in the face, but just remembering Yurio's harsh words was enough to sober him up. He stared down at the tea in his hands as if it would give him answers.

_"Just keep your pig mouth shut."_

Viktor was patient, watching him quietly as always, but Yuuri could tell that he had no idea what was troubling him. He wondered how much Viktor didn't know. Yurio made it sound like he was aware of the mark itself, but the scars...

Yuuri couldn't imagine what had happened. Had somebody tried to cut his mark off when he was young? There were some scars that were more youthful, so it might have been an ongoing thing back in Russia.

There was also the possibility that it was from some traumatic accident. But still, the injuries looked both very old and more recently developed-

Yuuri's breath caught in his throat. _Had Yurio been putting them there himself?_

"Yuuri?" Viktor had moved closer, gently brushing his hair out of his face. He looked even more worried now as he pressed the back of his hand against Yuuri's forehead. "Are you okay?"

The proximity was too much for Yuuri. He could feel every thump of Viktor's steady heart through his palm, every soft breath fanning across his face.

Before he realized what he was doing, Yuuri scooted away, practically flinching out of Viktor's touch. When he tentatively glanced back, he found Viktor with a slightly injured expression, but he quickly recovered with a stern frown.

"Yuuri, as your coach, you have to tell me if you're feeling sick or stressed." His authoritative voice lingered before he smiled again, tilting his head. "And as your soulmate, I'd like to be able to help."

_Soulmate._

And there was one more thing about the discovery that had Yuuri reeling. It was what had made him gasp and drop the towels as soon as he saw the spiraling wings stretched across Yurio's narrow back, the familiar black ink interrupted by harsh white scars.

It was identical to the mark on his own back.

Yuuri had been living with two marks for a while. For such a thing to happen was incredibly rare. It was more likely for a person to not have a mark at all. When he was young his parents used to tell him he was truly blessed to have two soulmates-

One to protect his heart, and one to carry him like a bird's wings.

Never in his life had he imagined those two people would be the Russian legends, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky.

He was struggling to comprehend it all.

"It's just...." Yuuri fought to find the right words, trying to ignore the way Viktor's face lit up relief and he scooted closer. "Have you seen Yurio's soulmark before?"

"Yurio showed you his soulmark?" 

The way Viktor said it was confusing. He couldn't tell where the emphasis was, whether it was on _you_  or _Yurio_ , maybe it was both. 

"It was an accident," Yuuri said, looking back to his tea and swirling a few of the white bubbles on the top around with his spoon. "He...."

"I assume you saw the scar, then," Viktor said, sounding a lot more tired then than he ever had before.

Yuuri blinked at him for a moment. _Scar_? So he knew. But he had said scar, instead of scar _s_...

Oh.

_Don't... don't tell Viktor._

The vulnerability, the fear in Yurio's eyes had been breathtaking. Never in his life had he imagined Yurio would beg for him to not say something, but he could still feel the harsh indents on his wrist from his panicked grip.

"Do you know how he got it?" Yuuri dared a glance at Viktor and found him looking away, nibbling on his thumb thoughtfully. 

"Yes." Viktor let out a long sigh before turning to Yuuri with a small smile. "It's nothing important, so you don't have to worry. I'm sure Yurio would rather we not mention it. Soulmates have always been a rather sensitive topic for him."

"Sensitive?" Yuuri knew he was pressing, but Viktor didn't seem to notice or just didn't give away that he did, nodding once.

"We shared an apartment in Russia before I came here," Viktor explained. "He moved in after... an accident that left him in need of a more stable living situation."

Whatever on earth that meant, Yuuri didn't know.

"Anyways," Viktor continued, "once I saw his soulmark, I tried asking him a few times, but he never seemed willing to talk about it. When I pressed, he started screaming and locked himself in his room for the rest of the day."

"Sounds exhausting," Yuuri sympathized lightly, offering a smile even though his head was spinning. Did Yurio really hate his soulmark to the point that he would try to cut it off?

"Oh, it was." Viktor laughed, the sound soothing his wired nerves. "I never really understood, because I've always been fascinated by soulmates. When I was a young boy, my mother used to tell me that my soulmate was a beautiful Italian woman with brown eyes that could see the whole world. Boy, she hit pretty far off the mark."

Yuuri's face heated and he turned back to his tea. Viktor didn't seem to like that idea and his fingers gently grabbed him by the chin and nudged Yuuri back to look at him. 

"She was right about your eyes, though," Viktor murmured as his lips quirked into a soft smile that made him seem a lot younger. "I could probably drown in them."

Viktor was dizzyingly close, his breath fanning over Yuuri's face in sweet waves. He was close enough that Yuuri could make out the green flecks in his eyes and each individual silver eyelash against his pale skin. All he had to do was take the initiative and then he would be kissing Viktor-

Yuuri flinched back so hard that he almost fell, and his hand slammed down on the counter just in time to catch himself from falling. The loud bang caused Viktor to start, hand dropping from Yuuri's chin, and the moment shattered.

Why did it feel like he was betraying Yurio? That wasn't right at all...

 _Yurio is my soulmate, too._  Yuuri bit his lip, looking away as he battled with himself. _But he's only fifteen. He can't-_

His thoughts were interrupted by a hand coming up to gingerly touch his cheek. He glanced up at Viktor, who was smiling a little dimmer than usual.

"I can tell you're worried about Yurio," Viktor said, taking his cup of tea and heading to the kitchen. "If you want, you can try to talk to him. I saw him run into his room about a half hour ago."

"Really?" Yuuri's face scrunched with uncertainty as he stood up and followed Viktor to the kitchen, hovering. "Can't you come?"

"Oh, no," Viktor laughed, but this time it sounded strained as he washed the mug out and dried it. He came over to Yuuri and cupped his face gently. "Yurio never listens to me. But if anyone can, I think it's you. He's been watching you pretty closely since he got here."

"Because he thinks I'm competition," Yuuri muttered, glancing away modestly. 

"Well, then, all the more reason to listen to you!" Viktor let him go and nudged him towards Yurio's room. "If you lecture him, he'll listen just to prove you wrong."

Yuuri laughed a little in spite of himself before nodding, wringing his hands together. After a moment, he looked up at Viktor. "Thank you."

"You can thank me once he's done screaming bloody murder at you," Viktor purred, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head that made Yuuri blush to his ears. "Now hurry up, before he falls asleep or something!"

Yuuri smiled faintly and ducked out of his reach, heading towards Yurio's room and giving a glance over his shoulder. Viktor was giving him a thumbs up as he retreated to the other side of the house, where his room was. Yuuri reciprocated it before facing Yurio's door.

_Here goes._

* * *

Blood.

It was everywhere, and it wouldn't stop.

Yuri had grown used to the sight of his blood, but never this much. It pooled around him until he couldn't figure out where it came from, flooded the cracks in the floor as it dripped off of the ceramic sink.

He was drowning in it.

The scissors he gripped in his hands were red now, but at least his hands weren't shaking anymore. He stared at the scissors blankly, at each drop of red that flicked to the floor under him.

He dared a glance to the mirror and saw a massacre.

He hadn't cut himself much, only a few times where the skin was soft and pliant. Crisscrossed the scars with deep indents. He must have cut too deep, on a couple, because they wouldn't stop bleeding. 

The logical side of him said he should've stopped when he felt the first pinprick of pain, but the irrational monster in him begged for more.

 _Ruin it._  His breathing was still ragged and uneven. _Make this stupid mark unrecognizable. Stain it red. Replace it with what is real._

These cuts were real.

He wasn't sure when, but the bleeding did stop because he had the sense to press the towel to them. The towels were stained, but this place probably wouldn't miss them, so throwing them out wasn't a problem. Now it looked like art, a sponge of red here and a streak there, drying and darkening.

The world spun slowly back into focus and he realized that at some point he had gotten on his knees instead of sitting on the sink. There was blood splattered on the ground and sink, but not as much as he thought.

He was dizzy. The lacerations burned, but it was a real burn, an itch he could scratch. He slowly started to gather up the scissors and towel, numb.

_"Yurio?"_

At first, it sounded so far away he thought he imagined it. But when Yuri heard a soft thud of knuckles on the door, he was paralyzed, his fingers gripping the bloodied scissors in a panic. 

Thinking, breathing, moving... he couldn't do anything. White fear that swallowed him whole once again at the sound of the stupid Japanese Yuuri's voice.

Had he locked the door?

These doors had no locks.

"Yurio, I'm coming in," Yuuri warned, his voice raising up a pitch with some unknown emotion. "Okay?"

Yurio tried to reply, to speak, but his tongue was thick in his mouth and he almost choked on it. He could only watch with dread as the doorknob turned- and finally he could move, standing up and spinning around until his back was pressed against the counter, but the scissors, and the blood-

The door opened, and Yuuri walked in on a battlefield with only one soldier left standing in the center. A soldier covered in his own blood and fear.

The world came to a halt as fear finally crashed in like a wave, and Yuri's knees failed to hold him up any longer. Before he could meet the unforgiving ground, warm arms caught up, lifting him up again.

"Oh my God, Yuri," the Japanese man gasped, for once dropping that horrible nickname in the midst of his terror. He held Yuri up- surprisingly strong for how weak he behaved.

Then again, he had been able to pole dance at that stupid banquet, hadn't he? A hoarse laugh croaked out of Yuri's mouth, pitiful and small, and then he was crying like a fucking baby, hot tears scathing his cheeks. 

Yuuri didn't even hesitate to bring his arms fully around Yuri's torso- carefully avoiding the cuts he saw in the mirror- and pull him closer. Yuri was too tired to fight him and instead just buried his face in Yuuri's neck and let the tears dissolve in the soft blue fabric of his shirt.

He was weak. He was so fucking weak, and he hated it.

"You're not weak," Yuuri said, somehow picking up on his thoughts- or was he saying them aloud? "You're stronger than anyone I know. You're not weak at all."

Yuri didn't have the strength to argue. He barely had the strength to breathe anymore. 

"I hate it," he whispered into Yuuri's skin as the fat tears finally stopped and he could see again. "I hate this stupid mark. I wish I could burn it off of my skin."

There was a long silence that made the air in the room feel a lot colder, and then Yuuri asked quietly, "Why?"

Why? What a stupid, stupid question. Yuri had so many reasons that he couldn't even pick one. Fortunately his mouth seemed to be doing the talking on his own as he pushed Yuuri away and sunk against the counter, feeling small and insignificant.

"Because," he said. "Because I don't want this. I don't want to rely on somebody, I don't want to be weak. This mark- it's supposed to define me but instead it just makes me _weak_ , and I hate it, I want to bleach it off until there's nothing there."

Yuuri stared at him silently, those brown eyes unreadable instead of expressive like they always were. He didn't move and Yuri felt somehow attacked by his silence.

"Everyone treats me like a kid," Yuri spat, his hands shaking as he gripped the scissors in his hand until they stopped. "And whoever my soulmate is, they will too. I don't want to rely on anyone- I don't want this! It makes me weak."

"It doesn't make you weak," Yuuri said, reaching out. He touched Yuri's hand and he tried to snatch it away, but Yuuri was faster and grabbed him by the wrists before gently prying the bloodstained scissors out and tossing them in the trash can. He doesn't let go of Yuri's hands, though. "It doesn't make you anything. Your mark doesn't say anything about you- it's just another part of you, like your eye color or hair length."

Yuri didn't get it. His mark wasn't- it wasn't him. It was the mark of all the expectation, a reminder that he couldn't be his strongest without the other bearer at his side. He didn't want that. He wanted to be more. He wanted to be stronger.

"I never asked for this," he whispered brokenly. "I never asked to have a soulmate."

"Nobody did." Yuuri released one of his hands to press his palm to Yuri's chest, right over his heart. "But it doesn't matter. The only thing that makes you who you are is right here. You have control over it."

"I don't." Yuri shook his head, Yuuri's palm searing on his skin. "I don't want to be like him, I don't want to be obsessed with my soulmate. I want to be better than him."

Viktor. He wanted to be better than Viktor. He was always chasing after him, always one step behind. Yuuri frowned a little before understanding flickered in his eyes, and then he _laughed_.

"I think we all do at some point," Yuuri said quietly, before pulling his hand away. "You can be better than him. You've come this far, right?"

"It was for nothing. The stupid fucker quit," Yuri growled, knitting his eyebrows together. "I ought to drag his ass back to Russia by his wrung neck."

Yuuri laughed again, the sound soft and bright. It made something twist in Yuri's gut instead of the usual guilt, made his heart sing just a little bit in response, and it was fucking weird.

"Then prove it at the Onsen on Ice," Yuuri said. "Just know that I won't go easy on you. I'm just as determined to keep Viktor here to be my coach."

"Can't imagine why," Yuri mumbled, sinking back against the counter and letting the cool tile ease the burn on his skin. "He's probably a shitty coach."

Yuuri just giggled again in response before Yuri nearly collapsed against the sink- fortunately, the man's fast response saved him yet again from the unforgiving floor as he caught Yuri by the waist and helped him up.

"Let's take care of your back," Yuuri said, his voice getting quieter at the end. Yuri was pliant in his grip as Yuuri guided him to his bed and helped him onto it, making him lay on his stomach on top of a clean towel. Yuri simply buried his face in his pillows as Yuuri came back with first aid and cleaned the wounds and even stitched them.

Of course. He was a figure skater, stitching was more habitual than doing toe loops. Yuri snorted at the idea, his eyes fluttering closed as the rhythmic pull and sting on his flesh grew less painful. 

Unlike Viktor, Yuuri did not treat him as if he was fragile. He treated him like he was strong, a true opponent.

Yuri felt a stupid smile pull at his lips, but it disappeared when Yuuri put disinfectant on the wound. It stung like a bitch, and every muscle in his back pulled taut until it faded. It wasn't until the pain ebbed that he realized he had grabbed Yuuri's hand and was holding it tight.

Yuri released him immediately and buried his face further into the pillows, humiliation burning at the backs of his eyes. Fortunately, Yuuri didn't laugh at him and simply cleaned up the supplies after bandaging the cuts.

A few minutes passed, and suddenly Yuri was struck with the possibility that Yuuri had just left him. His head lifted from the pillow and he glanced around, inexplicable terror running through him. He sat up a little, wincing-

"Easy there," a soft voice said, gently pushing his shoulder back into the bed. "No moving or you'll tear the stiches. The cuts were shallow, but still."

It was Yuuri.

Yuri obliged and stuffed his face in the pillow again, the rush of relief numbing him to any other emotion. As long as Yuuri was there he had no reason to freak out, right? Exhaustion pulled at his nerve endings, and he yawned into the pillow.

"You can sleep," Yuuri said from beside him. "I'll make sure Viktor doesn't find out. But I expect for you to tell him youself."

 _Whatever_ , Yuri thought as he nodded into the pillow. Somehow, Yuuri saying that eased all of his anxiety. Whether or not he could trust him was debatable, but he _had_  just sewn up his back. So he figured he would trust him on this.

Yuri was pretty sure he heard him say, "Good night, Yurio." And the moment was lost.

"Don't call me that or I'll kick your ass, _katsudon._ "

The last thing he remembered hearing was Yuuri's laugh, and it made that same strange feeling rise in his stomach and made him feel as if he was floating.

He was starting to like that feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: self-harm, blood, slight anxiety attack, yurio just going thru a rough time
> 
> chapter last edited/revised: **feb. 20 2017** for TYPOS only


	4. On Love: Eros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for smut starting at the ******* and ending at around the page cutter/divider/hr!!

Yuri woke up in the middle of the night breathing hard, sweat soaking every inch of his body. Pain seared up his spine as he disturbed the stitches, sitting up fast with his hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white. His chest heaved with every strangled breath. He couldn't even remember what led him to wake up so abruptly, just the sensation of falling, of hitting the ground and breaking to a million pieces-

Yuri squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to shake off the sensation. The world was still spinning around him, and he feared that if he didn't get a grip he was either going to pass out or hurl, maybe both. He focused on forcing air in and out of his lungs instead, until the world felt a little more stable.

Something moved beside him, shifting against the covers with a soft rustle. Yuri froze and stopped breathing.

"Mm." The speaker sounded tired, disgruntled. Yuri opened one eye hesitantly at the familiar pitch- "Yurio?"

Oh. It was just the _katsudon_. He must have fallen asleep while he sat there.

Something pulled at Yuri's chest as he opened both eyes and watched Yuuri slowly lift his head and rub the sleep from his eyes with a yawn. Yuri had expected him to go off to his own bed when he'd passed out, but instead he had fallen asleep in a rather uncomfortable position, sitting in a folded chair with his head resting in his arms on the edge of the mattress.

He'd _stayed_.

Memories of the hours before came back with unrelenting force and Yuri had to tear his eyes away for fear of exposing the guilt there. He'd been caught in the act, he'd shown Yuuri the most hideous side of himself, and then Yuuri had taken care of him without a word of complaint.

He didn't deserve that kindness, but he couldn't find the will to shove him away. 

"Oh, you're awake," Yuuri murmured as he finally rose into consciousness. Yuri dared a glance and saw him leaning back to stretch, and-

And his shirt lifted just enough so that it went over his navel, the only proof of his softness being a few shallow white marks along his stomach, and-

And Yuri couldn't look away from the sharp angle of his hip bones that disappeared into the waistband of his sweatpants, or the taut muscles lining his abdomen that moved deliciously under his pale skin that glowed blue in the soft moonlight.

Yuuri brought his arms down and Yuri's head snapped to the side immediately, his face burning with a mixture of shame and humiliation. Had he really been staring at just a small stretch of skin? _I was only comparing_ , he tried to rationalize, but at the same time, if that was true, then why was his heart pounding in his chest?

"Yurio?" Yuuri called out to him sleepily, but Yuri didn't dare look over and expose his embarrassment. "Are you alright?"

 _No._  Panic fluttered in his chest as he thought of the Yuuri from the banquet, his flushed skin, his thick voice, the challenge in his eyes. _No. I'm fucked up._

He didn't want to be like Viktor. He refused to pine after his stupid fucking soulmate.

Suddenly, his bed dipped and creaked from an added weight, and Yuri's head whipped to the side to see Yuuri climbing onto it and trying to reach out to him-

But the sudden movement caused Yuri's face to be a fraction of an inch away from Yuuri's. He was so close that he could see the pupils in his eyes, blown wide with the low light. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller, especially when Yuuri didn't move away, and neither did he.

"Wh-" Yuuri struggled for a moment, but he didn't pull his eyes away for a second, "what's wrong?"

_Me._

"Nothing. I-" His lungs pinched off as he tried to lean away, but Yuuri only dipped closer. "I had a nightmare, is all."

"Oh." Yuuri still didn't move. "What was it about?"

"I..." Why the fuck wasn't his tongue working? His entire mouth was drier than the Sahara desert. "I don't remember...."

He didn't. His mind was brimming with nothing except how close Yuuri was, how he could feel every breath against his skin, could see each individual pore. He looked beautiful, silhouetted by the moonlight flooding his bed from the window.

 _Beautiful?_  What the hell was wrong with him?

"Okay," Yuuri breathed, and then he got _closer_ , until you could barely fit a piece of paper between their noses. "Want to talk about it?"

The nightmare?

"Uh, fuck no," Yuri blurted, because there were a thousand things he _wanted_  to do right now and none of them included that, and that was the extend of his coherency.

Yuuri laughed, but the sound was too airy and light, and his breath was so warm, and Yuri could practically taste it on his lips. His mouth parted before he could stop himself, just a little, so that he could feel it on his tongue.

He swore that Yuuri's gaze flashed down to his lips for a split second, but by the time Yuri's eyes refocused he was locking eyes again and he couldn't breathe once more.

"Alright." Yuuri shifted and his nose skimmed lightly against his own, leaving cold air in its wake. "What do you want to do?"

Oh, he knew _exactly_  what he wanted to do. But his tongue would not cooperate, he could only stare dazedly at the man crouched beside him. He was hyper aware of Yuuri's hand splayed on the covers of his bed, and the tips of his fingers that brushed his side just where his shirt rode over his hip bones.

Wherever his skin made contact felt like it was on fire.

"Do you want to," Yuuri paused, and for a moment his teeth dug into his lower lip and he glanced down briefly as if trying to figure something out, before his gaze once again locked onto Yuri's with something burning in them- "Do you want to kiss me?"

He wanted to do nothing more than he wanted that. No, that was a lie- he wanted to kiss him, sure, but he didn't want to stop there. He wanted to take Yuuri apart and put him back together again. He wanted to taste every last inch of his moonlit skin and pin him to the ground until he was writhing. He wanted to mark his flesh with a million reminders of himself.

Yuri wanted him like he'd never wanted anything before. And Yuuri seemed to realize that at the exact moment he did, because suddenly the corner of his lip quirked in a painfully amused way, and Yuri wanted to bite that pretty expression right off of his face,

"Okay. Then," Yuuri pulled back just a bit so that Yuri was leaning forward on his own, "I'll keep that in mind-"

The bed shifted, and suddenly Yuri realized he was going to leave. It felt like a challenge. It felt like abandonment. His body moved on its own, desperate to latch onto Yuuri and never release him.

Two things happened. First, he reached out and grabbed Yuuri by the collar of his shirt with fingers that trembled with need, curled the fabric in his fist almost angrily and jerked him back to where he was before.

And second, he tilted his head and smashed his lips against Yuuri's with a force that was almost bruising.

He kissed Yuuri like there was nothing on the face of the earth that he wanted to taste more, like he needed it to breathe, his grip on Yuuri's shirt still iron tight. For a moment, that was all it was- Yuri's lips on his, begging to be abused, begging to be punished. 

And then Yuuri smiled against his mouth.

A warm hand curled around the wrist holding his collar, pried the fingers off effortlessly. Another hand pressed into Yuri's chest and pushed him back until he was flat against the mattress, his bruised lips brushed cold by the night air.

He looked up at Yuuri, and he begged. He could see the vicious glint in those brown eyes as he realized this, the power he held, and it made a growl rise in Yuri's throat as he leered up at the man hovering on top of him, his legs straddling his thin waist.

"You'd better fucking kiss me back after all that foreplay, _katsudon_ ," Yuri snarled.

"And if I leave you here?" Yuri's whole body went cold at the notion, at the way Yuuri's lip quirked again. "Tie you up to the bed and leave you here, begging and alone? Who would come save you?"

Yuuri's head dipped, and for a moment his lips hovered inches from Yuri's, before they dropped lower and skimmed across the bared skin of his throat, right over his Adam's apple. Yuri's breath left him in a strangled exhale as he arched into Yuuri's touch, but Yuuri simply smiled against the skin and didn't move.

"Who would save you?" Yuuri repeated against his throat. "Viktor? We both know he'd just forget you like he did when he left Russia."

The words dug into his flesh, cold and harsh. He wanted nothing more than to grab Yuuri by the hair and kiss him until he bruised and bite his tongue until it bled as punishment for the poisonous words. But he was trapped, one wrist caught by Yuuri's and one pressed between their bodies.

"I assume somebody would find you, eventually," Yuuri mused, his lips still tickling and breath hot on his skin, "but where's the fun in that?"

Yuuri finally pulled away, but the absence of his lips was freezing. When he locked gazes with him, Yuuri wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, his eyes swallowed up every visible inch of him like there was nothing else worth looking at. Yuri could only imagine what he looked like- skin flushed, lips parted and breathing ragged, eyes wild with want. He must have looked like a fucking wreck, but Yuuri stared at him like he was a masterpiece.

Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach.

"Kiss me," Yuri gasped this time, bordering on desperation. 

"Beg." The look in Yuuri's eyes was smoldering. 

"I- what?" Yuri couldn't think past the want that curled his toes and pressed on his ribs. "Beg?"

Yuuri nodded, lifting a hand to thread it in Yuri's hair, which pooled around him in disheveled strands. He was holding himself up with just the strength in his legs, one hand in his hair and one still capturing his wrist. Impressive, an athlete's strength when they used the sheer force of willpower.

"Beg for it," Yuuri repeated slower, leaning down until there was barely room to think. 

To breathe.

"Kiss me," Yuri plead, his voice a wanton gasp as he pressed his face into Yuuri's palm, the heat searing his skin. "Please. Please, please, please just kiss me, please-"

"Good," Yuuri whispered, and then he finally, _finally_  leaned down and kissed him until the world spun.  

His lips were warm against Yuri's, and for a moment he barely had the mind to respond, but then the temperature of the room shot up a good ten degrees and he ripped his hand out from between them so that he could grab Yuuri by the back of the head and kiss him harder.

Suddenly, the small sliver of space between them was too much, and it became a mutual goal to erase it. Yuuri let go of his wrist so that he could slide it down his side, every touch leaving a scalding burn in its wake. Yuri was arching into his touch, and when his fingers slipped under the fabric of his shirt he couldn't bite back the gasp that slipped from his mouth.

And if Yuuri hadn't been breathing hard before, he was now. 

The kiss went from smoldering and slow to desperate in a matter of seconds. Yuuri's tongue flicked across the bottom of his lip almost tentatively, and Yuri opened up for him immediately. He kissed Yuuri until his vision started to grow black from lack of oxygen, his tongue hot and his breath hot and his touch hot.

Even when they had to part for air, neither dared to afford a break- hands were wandering, searing against Yuri's flesh while Yuuri dipped his head to drag his lips down his neck and across his collarbone. Everywhere his lips touched, gooseflesh rose in its wake, craving more and more of him.

He was intoxicating.

When Yuuri bit down on him and sucked, a silent cry fell from Yuri's lips, just barely muted by a shaking fist pressed to his mouth. The constant reminder of Viktor being only a few doors away was given in the presence of the man on top of him.

Viktor.

What a terrible cockblock, that thought was. Suddenly the room was a lot colder and he stilled under Yuuri's insistent touch.

"Wait," he just barely managed to choke out in between desperate contact, tilting his head away so that Yuuri was instead pressing his mouth against his throat, which was a dozen times more distracting. "Viktor-"

"Hmm?" Yuuri's mouth was hot on his skin. "What about him?"

Yuri bit his lip before abruptly turning his head and pulling the edge of Yuuri's shirt down to reveal his collarbone. "Your mark-"

The skin was pale, flawless, not a sign of that stupid Russian in sight. Stunned, Yuri ran his thumb over the skin and tried to find any existence of its presence, but it was smooth to the touch. Yuuri grabbed his hand and pressed his lips to the knuckles.

"There was never Viktor," he said quietly, his voice slightly uneven. "There was only you."

*******

Yuri stared up at him before sitting up quickly, wrapping his arms around Yuuri's waist and kissing him hard. Yuuri was stiff at first before responding with equal pressure, his lips parting to let Yuri in. He sucked on Yuuri's tongue as he grabbed the hem of Yuuri's shirt and pulled it over his head, separating only long enough to get it out of the way before running his hands down Yuuri's sides. His skin was hot, scalding to the touch.

He loved it.

The air between them seemed to pull tight, and Yuri could barely see past his own need, but when he realized how tight his pants were it suddenly made a lot more sense. Especially with the way Yuuri was seated in his lap, there was no way Yuuri _didn't_ know his problem- and then Yuuri shifted slightly and his rear grazed against his cock and he saw stars, pulling  away from the heated kiss to let out a quiet moan as he pressed his forehead against Yuuri's chest.

"Jesus," Yuuri hissed through his teeth, and for a minute Yuri feared he had freaked him out, but then Yuuri lifted his chin and his mouth was on his again, demanding- and with a roll of his hips, a flash of heat shot down his neck and pooled in his stomach.

The things that he was doing to him were unbelievable. Yuri couldn't think, he just wanted more, and suddenly it became a lot less clear where Yuuri started and he began. Somewhere in the middle of the feverish kisses his shirt had been deemed pointless and discarded, and Yuuri had resumed his position of looming over top of him, pressing his mouth against his bare and heaving chest.

"More," Yuri gasped as Yuuri's tongue pressed to his sternum and dragged down, down. His hands scrabbled at his shoulders and dug in desperately, arching into his lips. "More, please-"

"Since you asked so nicely," Yuuri said into his stomach, hot breath fanning over the skin deliciously. He slid up Yuri's chest and kissed him hard, and then his hand pressed between their sweat-slicked bodies and brushed against his hardening bulge, and- there was so much and so little at the same time.

Yuri keened, the noise one he had never made before, and he had to break apart from Yuuri's mouth just to gasp for air. Yuuri punished him by sucking hard just above his collarbone, hand still pressed against the outline of his cock and radiating heat the bounced around his body.

"Can I...?" Yuuri's voice was strained, as if asking was difficult to do, and when Yuri glanced down at him his eyes were blown wide with lust, his cheeks painted red and sweat sticking to his forehead, and he was beautiful. 

"Please," Yuri said weakly, digging his fingers into his hair and pulling him into another desperate kiss. "Please touch me."

In one movement, his pants and underwear were being pushed down to his knees, and then there was a hand wrapped around his length and his back arched and he almost screamed, if it weren't for the mouth that swallowed it and chased it down with a hot tongue.

"Shh," Yuuri murmured into his lips, still holding him in one hand while using the other to brushing away the hair that stuck to his face. The action was so gentle that it made his heart ache. "The pillow-"

And then his hand moved, and Yuri barely had time to stuff his face into the pillow before he cried out again. 

Everything burned- every part of his skin that Yuuri touched seemed to leave a burn in his path, but the feeling was delicious. It distracted him from the itch in his back, he could barely feel it, he could only feel Yuuri and it was amazing.

Yuuri's hand pulled down on his cock again, painfully slow, and once it was clear that Yuri wasn't going to scream he did it again, at a more even pace. Eventually Yuri was thrusting his hips up desperately into the contact, and hot pre-cum leaked between them and dripped down his thighs.

"Look-" Yuuri grabbed his chin and forced his face from the pillow, " _look_  at me."

Yuri did. And he was beautiful- hair disheveled from his hands, face flushed with arousal, eyes searing as he met his. Even his mouth had evidence of Yuri on it, bruised and swollen, and that mouth soon stole his once again as his hand sped up, and his thumb brushed against the head, and Yuri was screaming into his mouth again- _more_.

His body was arched so far into Yuuri's touch that it might have snapped if he pressed it any harder, and his hands were clutching Yuuri's shoulders desperately, pushing him away and holding him in place at the same time.

Yuuri's hand moved faster, alternating between thrusts to press against the slit until the pool of heat in stomach wound tighter and his breaths became short and desperate. He moved his head to breathe and Yuuri immediately buried his face in his neck, muttering _beautiful_ under his breath over and over, pumping his cock in time with every buck of his hips. 

"I-" He struggled to form words past his own gasps. "I'm too close-"

The coil in his stomach wound tighter and tighter until his thrusts into Yuuri's fist grew more erratic and less fluid, and he could see nothing past the haze of tears in his eyes as he desperately sought release, nails digging into Yuuri's skin. 

Yuuri's thumb pressed into his slit again, and with one more hard thrust the coil bound tight in his stomach snapped and he came hard into his fist, burying his face in Yuuri's neck and biting down on the skin to muffle his cries. He spasmed weakly in Yuuri's grip as his cum splattered across both of their stomachs, hot and sticky just like everything else as the waves of release rolled over him.

With a quiet moan he collapsed weightlessly against the bed, even when Yuuri's lips chased his own and he rutted against him. He barely managed to maintain the energy to return the kiss before Yuuri pressed their foreheads together and his hips spasmed before a familiar warmth spilled across his skin while Yuuri whimpered his name.

When Yuuri finally collapsed beside him the room had finally cooled off, and Yuri was so exhausted that the room blurred in front of his eyes. He could feel Yuuri pressing chaste kisses along his face and neck and he curled into him, hiding his face in his bare chest and listening to the low thump of his heartbeat. He felt Yuuri laugh softly before nuzzling his head with his cheek.

"Good night, Yurio," he murmured into his hair.

"Don't call me that." His response was barely more than an incoherent mumble but Yuuri shook with silent laughter anyways, the vibrations comforting as they lulled Yuri into a weightless sleep.

* * *

And when he woke up, he was alone, legs tangled in his sheets and a familiar stickiness painting his legs. As soon as he eased himself into a sitting position and squinted at the dark and long-time empty room, realization hit him hard.

He'd just had his first wet dream. And it was about Katsuki fucking Yuuri. And he'd come all over his fancy ass bedsheets. Or he would have, if he wasn't wearing pants.

If Yuri had ever experienced humiliation before, it had nothing compared to this feeling. Shame and regret and terror bundled all up into one neat package and sticky pants. He had just came in his sleep to an _imaginary_  Katsuki Yuuri, who was supposed to be his rival, who was-

Who was _Viktor's soulmate._  He was disgusted with himself, but there was no familiar burn in his skin, so at least he had that. Instead he had cum, which was drying rather quickly, between his legs, and a sore back.

_What the fuck is wrong with me?_

He hated the way his clothes stuck to him, and he hated the reason they did. Shucking the blankets off, he stumbled out of bed, noting the empty chair beside his bed. _Thank God he wasn't here to see that._  

Sighing, he padded into his bathroom only to almost wipe out on the blood still stuck to the floor. He froze before sighing in resignation, flicking the lights on to assess the damage, only to find the room immaculate. The slipperiness had come from a puddle of water left from scrubbing it clean. Even the sink was cleaned, the trash bin empty... it was like he had never been there.

 _That idiot stayed up late cleaning up after me._  And the bandages on his back were different, so he'd replaced them. All just to honor his stupid promise to not tell Viktor.

Yuri sighed as he stepped over the puddle and washed himself off with the sink, not daring to wake the house with a shower. Anyone with a brain knew what that meant, especially with a teenager in the house.

 _Huh, whatever._  Even though he _was_  a teenager, he had never... he hadn't experienced a dream like that before. He was still shaken, still felt itchy. Even after cleaning himself off he felt dirty, stained somehow.

Maybe he could shake it off with water; after all, he was dehydrated from blood loss and sweating. Pulling on a fresh pair of clothes and shoving the old ones halfway down the hamper, he crept into the kitchen and padded past a figure asleep on the couch. Once he'd downed six glasses, he felt like he was floating, but it eased some of the tension.

He headed back to his room, only to pause as the person on the couch shifted and a familiar pair of glasses caught the moonlight coming from the window. 

 _Dumbass._  What was he doing out here, sleeping on the couch? He looked like he had fallen asleep on accident, collapsed against the side of the couch and face pressed against his arm. He didn't look comfortable. _Damn it._  Viktor wouldn't ever come back to Russia if he knew he'd left his dumb soulmate sitting out on the couch in a backbreaking position.

At first he tried to shake Yuuri awake, but he was so far gone that even that didn't affect him and instead his mouth parted in a soft, sleepy sigh. He tried not to think about that mouth on his and instead gently removed Yuuri's glasses and wiped them off of his shirt, folding them and putting them on the table.

But that wasn't enough. He couldn't carry Yuuri, so he'd have to make do. Grabbing a spare blanket left folded in the corner of his room, he laid it out across the sleeping idiot and gently readjusted him until he was laying down horizontally across the couch.

Yuuri mumbled something in his sleep that sounded suspiciously like _katsudon_  and Yuri just barely contained his laughter as he patted his head softly. 

"Keep on dreaming about your pork cutlet bowls, pig," he said softly, his own fucked up version of thank you. He pulled the blanket up to Yuuri's chin and the man immediately snuggled into it, smiling slightly. Yuri couldn't help but reach out, brush his fingers along the hair falling in his face, which was so similar to the one in his dream.

"...Yuri," Yuuri mumbled quietly, his words immediately sending a spike of terror down his spine as his touch lingered at his forehead. He held his breath until Yuuri buried his face in the blankets and practically purred. "Yurio..."

What the _fuck?_  Was _katsudon_ dreaming about him, or was this another fucked up dream to follow the last?

Suddenly Yuuri's face pinched and he pulled the blankets tighter, looking distressed. "Don't... cut, stop... no...." He looked like he was about to cry, and for a moment Yuri feared he would to as he realized that the moron was dreaming about him _hurting himself_. Guilt pulled at his chest hard, until he had to grit his teeth to force it out.

Instead of dwelling on it, he only dared to press his lips to the man's temple. His skin was so much softer in person than it was in his dream. The crease between Yuuri's brow smoothed out almost immediately as he let out content sigh, and Yuri pulled away before he did anything else stupid, heart racing.

Yuuri shifted, and for a moment Yuri feared he was going to wake up, but he simply rolled onto his other side and let out a soft snore. Yuri smiled to himself, a feeling that was wholly unfamiliar, and he touched the corner of his lip almost in disbelief before he spotted something on Yuuri's bare shoulder.

It was ink. Or rather, a mark.

Yuuri's shirt was too big, so it drooped just enough to reveal the upper part of his shoulder,  but that was more than enough. A spiraling display of black curled around the top of his shoulder blade and glared tauntingly at him.

The mark that mirrored his own stared him right in the face, and it was on Katsuki Yuuri's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised: **feb. 20 2017** for TYPOS only


	5. On Love: Agape

The sight of the mark haunted him. The second Yuri finally fell into a fitful sleep after stumbling from the living room, it was imprinted on his mind, the uninterrupted swooping lines he was all too familiar with. They burned into the back of his eyelids.

_He has my mark._

The next few days slipped by in a blur. As much as he wished it wouldn't, time continued to move forwards regardless of the shock. He woke up to Viktor crashing around the house next morning, and Yuuri was clueless as usual. Somehow, watching them flirt felt a lot more disgusting than it had before.

Right before he'd left to go run, Yuuri had grabbed him by the arm to stop him, and he'd flinched away so hard that he stumbled back a step. The hurt look in Yuuri's eyes was painful to look at, so Yuri merely mumbled out an incoherent excuse and bolted.

Was he a coward? Sure. But he wasn't sure how he could ever look Yuuri in the eyes without seeing the mark on his back.

He was numb. Every nerve in his body seemed to sizzle idly as if moments from snapping, so strung up that he couldn't feel, couldn't think. In all honesty, he didn't know what to think.

He felt blindsided. 

Should he have noticed earlier? Yuri had been bare-chested at the banquet, but with Viktor panicking he was too busy trying to calm him down to notice. And he could barely see past the mark on his chest.

Having two marks was all but unheard of. The chances of it happening were about as common as shitting out pure gold. The only person recorded to have two marks was some obscure child in a rural country who had been stillborn. 

And now Yuri, who loathed the one he had, had to deal with the fact that he shared a soulmark with Katsuki Yuuri, who also shared a soulmark with his elder counterpart Viktor Nikiforov.

He felt played. He felt lied to. He felt even more alone than he'd originally thought.

Yuuri knew. He knew he had the same soulmark ever since he'd seen it in the bathtub. Was that why he'd flipped out? Did he even _care_ , or was he just as bad as Viktor, worrying about himself instead?

Yuri had half a mind to burn the mark right off of his back, and he considered it for a long time after an exhausting practice as he stared at a lighter left out on the table. He wondered what would happen to Yuuri if he just lit it in flames, if his mark would burn too, if it would _hurt_. Because a sick part of him wanted it to, because he'd lied to him, by saying nothing at all.

Yuri had never thought about the person on the other side of his soulmark whose skin reflected his own. But now he obsessed over it.

Practice continued, and he was suffering the repercussions of his injury.

Each jump, each step hurt. He could feel the pain all the way down to his bones, and if he had been any weaker he would have collapsed after just one jump. But he was numb, and instead he could only continue to relish the burn, because at least it meant he was feeling something.

His performance still lacked Viktor's idiotic idea of _agape_. The assignment felt like a personal jab, a reference to his hatred for his soulmark. He had been set up to fail. 

Neither Viktor nor Yuuri had ever cared about his own health, they only worried over their own lives and ideals. He was sickened by them.

Yuuri finally grew tired of their game of cat and mouse a day before the Onsen on Ice competition. Yuri was surprised he held out so long- every side glance burned his skin, every unspoken word laid thick in the air between them. 

And Yuuri was confused. He had no idea.

Yuri had been dodging him in the hallways for weeks, but when he'd wandered out in the middle of the night to get something to eat, a hand grabbed him by the back of his sweatshirt and dragged him in Yuuri's room. 

The door shut behind him and he was cloaked in total darkness before the light flicked on. Yuri had stupidly assumed Yuuri was asleep because the lights had been off, and the miscalculation had put him here. 

Yuuri stood in front of him, eyes wide, still holding him by the collar of the shirt, and didn't say a word. He looked surprised that he had managed to pull it off, which pissed Yuri off even more.

"Let me go, _katsudon_ ," he snapped, unable to look in his eyes and instead staring at the wall to his side. He hated that he couldn't see over Yuuri's shoulder. He hated the advantage he had over him.

"No." Yuuri's fingers curled tighter on his sweatshirt and he was reminded, to his humiliation, of that horrible dream. "Tell me what's wrong, Yurio. Why are you ignoring me?"

"I don't make a habit out of socializing with competition," Yuri spat, still not meeting Yuuri's eyes, which burned into his own.

"That's bullshit." Yuri blinked in surprise and dared a glance at him- Yuuri rarely cursed, but now he looked almost livid, and it was probably the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. The man loomed over him, one hand pressed to the wall by his head, caging him in.

Trapping him.

"Stop lying to me, Yurio," Yuuri bit out, but his voice grew a little quieter at the end and Yuri saw a glimpse of the insecure side of him. "Stop lying to yourself. Why won't you talk to me?"

Yuri hated this. He hated the way his stomach burned to say everything, the way his eyes burned with unshed tears. He hated how weak he was because of his stupid soulmark. 

"Maybe," Yuri said, finally lifting his burning eyes to his with a glare, "maybe I'm not like that stupid Viktor. Maybe I don't constantly drape myself over you for your attention. Not everyone is willing to abide by your every command like him and your dumb friends."

Yuuri looked taken aback, but he soon recovered with a frown. "This isn't about him-"

"Then why don't we _make_  it about him?" Yuri spat, grabbing the hand on his collar and pulling it off with shaking fingers. "He's been drooling over you for weeks. What do you think's going to happen at the competition? He's suddenly going to get over himself and be willing to come back to Russia if I beat you?"

"He isn't like that," Yuuri insisted. "He'll be objective. He said he would."

"Just because you're his precious soulmate doesn't mean you know him better than I do." Yuri practically spit the word _soulmate_. "I lived with that asshole for a year and a half. He's willing to throw himself off of a bridge for you. He'd been willing to do that for you before he even knew your fucking _name_. Do you really think he's just going to pack his bags and resign if your program is shit?"

"You're just mad because he cares about his soulmate," Yuuri retorted, looking angrier than he ever had looked before. Yuri loved it, he loved getting a rise out of him. "You've been so busy lamenting about yours that you haven't even _considered_ that they might want to help you-"

" _Help me_?!" Yuri's voice rose above a furious whisper in disbelief as he slammed his hands against Yuri's chest. "Nobody here or anywhere else wants to _help me_! They're too busy obsessing over themselves to give a shit about some kid who followed Viktor to Japan because he was 'lonely'."

"You don't know that," Yuuri said insistently, unphased by Yuri's hands repeatedly hitting him in the chest. "You don't know that! You haven't given your soulmate a chance. You can't even look past your own anger!"

"Shut _up_!" Yuri pushed hard and Yuuri stumbled back, his hand falling from the wall to his side. Yuri's breath came in harsh gasps as he curled his hands into fists at his sides, refraining from shoving them up his jaw. "You sound just like him! I've been hearing this 'give them a chance' bullshit for too long. What if I don't want to? I don't need a soulmate- I don't want one if they fucking blind me like you guys!"

"You wouldn't _know_." Yuuri narrowed his eyes as he stepped forward until Yuri was pressed against the wall, the light switch digging painfully into his injured back. "You haven't even given them a chance."

"I did," Yuri snarled back at him, his entire body shaking with fury as he glared up at him. He could make him feel as small as he wanted, it didn't make a difference, he would only dig his knives in deeper. Perhaps he was a masochist in the respect that he enjoyed the pain. "And in return, they lied to me."

Yuuri fell back, his eyes glittering with confusion, and Yuri took the chance to step away and run away. Before he did, he sent a harsh glare over his shoulder at the shaken Japanese man. 

"I'm going to kick your ass tomorrow at the competition," Yuri said bitterly. "And you'll be there to witness just how right I was when Viktor picks you anyways."

And he slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake the entire house.

On the way back to his room, he spotted Viktor peering out of his room and then padding towards Yuuri's with concern in his eyes, and it disgusted him even further that the man could afford to worry about his soulmate at such an ungodly hour and act like it made no difference.

Yuri fell asleep that night with anger raging a battle in his mind, and it persisted even when he woke up.

By the time he made his way onto the ice that night, he was breathing hard, sweat beading at his hairline despite the cool air of the rink. He could feel all of the audience's eyes, but specifically Yuuri's, lingering at the edge and watching him silently.

 _Don't even think about looking away,_ katsudon _. I want you to know exactly what you're up against when we meet on the ice again, on fair grounds. I'll make you look like a clown._

The music started, and he barely heard it past the blood roaring in his ears. But he didn't dare let it affect him, instead letting his muscles pull the moves from pure memory. The ice under his skates was so much colder than it had been before- no longer a canvas waiting to be painted, but a battlefield.

He always performed better when he cared about the challenge. Viktor had said that a year ago, that his performances had been lackluster because he didn't care.

Well, he cared now. And it showed- each scrape of his foot on the ice was injected with his anger. The blades cut into the ice with ease as he moved across it, and he caught a glimpse of Viktor watching with narrowed eyes, evaluating.

He made a point of looking him right in the eyes before his first jump. When he landed, the sound refracted in his head a hundred times. A flawless execution, and he could numbly hear the cheers racing through the crowd.

Yuri would not lose to somebody like Yuuri. He wasn't going to be beaten by some _katsudon_  who treated his skating like a game instead of taking it seriously. He knew he would lose to him today, but he was going to _beat_  him. When they met in competition, he would be standing on the podium with a gold medal in his fingers, and Yuuri would be watching from beneath him.

The ice became a rush of wind. He skated every single frustration he had- Viktor telling him to appreciate his mark, Yuuri telling him to give it a chance. All of that was _bullshit_. He didn't need a soulmate as long as he worked his ass off. He would be six times the skater Yuuri was by the end of this, soulmark or not.

He had been weak up until this point. He had let his fears and anxieties tear him apart, and that was evidenced by the marks all over his back, by the jarring pain he should have felt when he landed but couldn't past his own fury that raced through his blood and pumped him full of adrenaline. 

Yuri got a glimpse of Yuuri watching from the back, and he made a point of leering in his direction as he landed his quadruple toe loop without flinching. Pain seared up his spine, but he didn't care. At least his jumps were done.

By the time he reached his combination spin, he couldn't breathe, his gloved fist against his face was cool and hot at the same time, but he didn't care as the ice scraped beneath him from the abuse of his skates.

Viktor wanted to see his _agape_? This was Yuri's  _agape_ \- rage boiling under the surface, fury for all the pressure of his soulmark. He arched into the rest of his combination spin, gripping the skate between his fingers too tight in order to ignore the flash of pain up his back. 

He didn't give a shit about his soulmate, he didn't give a shit about _agape_. As far as he knew, his _agape_  was lies and broken trust and bloodied scissors. And if Viktor wanted to see that on the ice, he wouldn't be given the satisfaction of something lukewarm.

 _Agape_  was an unconditional love, a universal acceptance, which was what Viktor had been stuffing down his throat since day one. And he hated it.

When he finally skated to a halt and the music died out, he could barely breathe. His chest heaved and he stared numbly at the ceiling, and he felt the telltale warmth on his back that meant he'd opened a wound, but he didn't care. Silence fell over the crowd for a heartbeat before they all stood and roared with applause.

It felt hollow. It felt like victory over something petty. An empty win.

He had already lost.

Yuri dropped into a bow, squeezing his eyes shut as he accepted their praise with open arms. He wanted to escape, to run away. By the time he skated off of the ice he could barely see, but then a hand rested on his shoulder and the world snapped into focus.

"That _agape_ ," Viktor murmured into his ear, "was the perfect definition of you, Yuri Plisetsky."

Yuri felt insulted, but before he could reply Viktor's hand fell and he was gone again, leaving him alone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Yuuri skating onto the ice, looking more determined than he ever had before.

 _I've already lost._  

Yuuri's performance flew by without any semblance of time. His body moved in unfair ways, arching into the feeling of _eros_  as if he had been born to move that way. Yuri was reminded of the Yuuri from the banquet that danced with Viktor with utter abandon, but he also saw the Yuuri on ice who challenged the audience with his eyes.

He was also reminded of his dream Yuuri bent over him and holding him like he was the last thing in the world. This _eros_  was youthful and inexperienced, but raw. It was seduction- Yuuri hovering inches away from him and whispering, _beg._  But this time, Yuri refused to beg. He refused to sit back and watch Viktor fall head over heels for him because of a stupid mark.

Yuri left before the performance even ended, and he didn't even look over his shoulder. 

He already knew who had won. But he also knew who was going to win at the Grand Prix Final. And he would fight tooth and claw to prove that to the worthless _katsudon._

* * *

Yuri Plisetsky spent the following months doing nothing but practicing. His new program was one of the most intense programs he had ever witnessed, but with Lilia guiding him he was able to perfect it in a few months. He moved like a dancer- and he evolved like a monster.

Even Yakov seemed worried about how impressive his skating had become, and the attitude that accompanied it. Yuri met every competition like it was a battle, but it didn't feel the same as competing against the Japanese Yuuri. He lacked fire.

There was only one person that could bring that out in him and he lived hours away in Japan.

But sometimes that difference seemed a lot smaller.

Yuri watched all of Yuuri's competitive performances. Not because he wanted to, but because he was assessing the competition. He was determined to win against Yuuri and make good on his promise to win gold when they met.

When he watched Viktor leap onto the ice and kiss Yuuri at the end of the China Cup, Yuri wrecked Viktor's apartment. Yakov was staying there with him, but he didn't even question it when Yuri shattered all of his alcohol in the sink and burned half of his clothes. He came home to find Yuri seconds away from smashing Viktor's precious TV screen, a broken glass bottle hovering in his hand as the paused cut of Viktor and Yuuri hesitated on it.

Instead, Yuri crushed the glass under his foot and went to his room to grab his things and cat, and they both went to a hotel for the night before the next competition.

Watching Viktor mooch all over Yuuri was disgusting. It made his skin crawl and his mark burn, but not once did he lift a finger to his back. He couldn't afford the injury, but more than that, he didn't want to hurt himself over somebody like him.

He was not weak.

When the Rostelecom Cup arrived, Yuri was ready. The amount of sincerity he held scared even Mila, who had wordlessly been tailing him ever since he came back. She continuously tried to make contact with him but he brushed her off to focus on training.

When he ran into Viktor being interviewed, he saw red. It only got worse when the bastard mentioned Yuuri, especially with the way he said his name, with reverence vibrating in his tone.

"Ah, it's Yurio," Viktor said suddenly, swinging an arm around his shoulders and causing him to go stiff with fury. "Go on, tell them about the short program I choreographed for you-"

Yuri's hand moved on its own, knocking his coffee to the ground where it fell with a sound that echoed in his ears. When he turned to Viktor, it took all of his strength not to punch the amused quirk of his mouth.

"Don't touch me." Yuri's words were a growl as he took a step back. "I'm going to beat that _katsudon_  so hard tomorrow that he'll go back to Japan crying."

Something in Viktor's expression darkened, and Yuri didn't stick around to watch. He wanted to curl up in his room and sleep. He headed straight for the elevators once he got back to the hotel, and spotted the one on the left about to close and the right filled with bumbling idiots.

He slammed his foot in the closing elevator door and locked eyes with none other that Katsuki Yuuri.

The world seemed to get a lot darker, and it took all of his strength to slip onto the elevator without a word.

The doors closed and silence yawned between them. He could feel Yuuri's eyes on him, he could practically hear the gears running in his head. And then he had to open his mouth.

"It's good to see you again, Yurio."

Something about the statement made him a hundred times angrier. Yuri's head snapped towards him with disbelief. He spoke so casually, as if trying to make up for lost time. As if he was trying to care.

"It's been so long," Yuuri continued with a small, polite smile that pissed him off even more. "How have you been? Congratulations on winning silv-"

" _Stop_ ," Yuri snapped, his voice making Yuuri flinch. "Stop trying to play nice, _katsudon_."

Yuuri frowned just a little bit as he played with the end of his jacket. "I don't know why you're acting like this."

"Why?" Yuri stared at him in disbelief. "You wanna know _why_? Here's a thought, maybe it's because you intentionally didn't tell me about _my soulmark_  on _your back_."

Yuuri looked like he'd been slapped across the face, and Yuri relished the expression. 

"I would have understood if it weren't for the fact that you hid it from me to protect your own ass," Yuri continued. "You spent so long trying to convince me that I should just accept my soulmark because you had it, didn't you? You're so fucking selfish that it hurts."

"I didn't-"

"You _did_!" Yuri stepped forward and glared daggers at him. "You tried to get me to forget my soulmark was even there so you could run away with Viktor, and when that didn't work you tried to force me to come to terms with it so _you_  didn't get hurt. I wondered what would happen if I burned this stupid mark off of my back, if it would burn you too-"

"I did it to _protect_ you!" Yuuri raised his voice and it made Yuri flinch. "If you kept hurting yourself like that you would only regret it later. I couldn't just stand by and watch you do that to yourself."

"I wasn't do it to myself. I was doing it to my _mark_." 

Yuuri opened his mouth to reply, but then the elevator jerked hard and they both stumbled. There was a hollow creaking noise before the lights flickered and the elevator came to a halt. 

The elevator was silent for a second, and then Yuri slammed his foot into the elevator door. "Stupid fucking piece of shit," he snarled, kicking it again but to no avail. Out of all the times to be trapped in an elevator, it was with Yuuri.

Yuuri was fiddling with the buttons, and after a while the receiver beeped and an automatic voice filled the room, informing them the problem was being investigated and the elevator would be working in a few minutes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding." Yuri glowered at the elevator door. Yuuri didn't say a word, and silence once again hovered thick between them. It was a long time before Yuuri spoke in a soft, careful voice.

"I didn't mean to hide it from you." Yuuri was looking at his pockets almost ashamedly. "I just didn't know how to tell you. I was afraid you were going to avoid me because I was your soulmate."

Yuri struggled to find a response, but he couldn't. He still felt lied to.

"I only wanted you to be happy," Yuuri continued, lifting his head and meeting Yuri's eyes. "Not for myself, but for _you_. Viktor said you always struggled over your soulmark, and I know how you feel, a little."

Yuri barked out a laugh. "How could you possibly-"

"Because I have two soulmarks," Yuuri interrupted. "Everyone around me said I was gifted, blessed, but when I was younger all I cared about was skating. When I found out that one of them was Viktor...."

Right. He had been rather open about it to perform it on the ice- Yuri remembered feeling bad for whoever was on the other end, because it must have-

"I was terrified at first," Yuuri admitted with a little shrug. "I had beem a huge fan of Viktor's since I was little, and when his new program came out it was right there in my face. I suppose most people would have been excited, though, huh?"

"No," Yuri said, blurting out before he could stop himself. "If I were you, I would have screamed at him. I told him it was a ridiculous idea."

Yuuri laughed. The sound made his heart hurt.

"I suppose _you_ would have." Yuri didn't want to know what that implied. "But I was more just in shock. And then I was scared that I wouldn't be what Viktor was searching for, because how could somebody who got sixth at the Grand Prix Final ever compare to five-time World Championship gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov?"

Yuri remembered seeing him freaking out in the bathroom. Had that had something to do with this? Had he felt pathetic? It made so much more sense now.

"When I performed his program, it was more or less an accident." Yuuri bit his lip. "The triplets filmed it and published it without my permission. So when Viktor swooped in the next day I ended up hiding from him for a whole day."

"You're kidding." 

"I really wish I was," Yuuri said with a smile. "And even so, I felt like I was betraying whoever had the second mark by chosing Viktor. I was hesitant to even talk to him for fear of hurting them. And when I found out it was you... I panicked, a little. Plus, you screamed at me, which certainly didn't help."

"I was pissed!" Yuri snapped at his little smirk, but he looked down in embarrassment anyways, an unspoken apology lingering from the action.

"You were. I probably should have knocked." Yuuri's expression faltered. "I should have done a lot of things. I should have told you. But I got nervous and scared and hid it from you- and Viktor."

"Viktor didn't know?"

"He still doesn't." Yuuri offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't want to tell him unless you were okay with it first."

Yuri's heart clenched as he realized that all this time he had been trying to fight Yuuri, the other had been looking out for him, respecting him. He felt cajoled.

"I meant to tell you afterwards," Yuuri added. "Viktor said I should try to talk with you when I asked about your mark, and I fully intended to."

"And instead you found me with a pair of scissors in my back."

Yuuri flinched a little. "Yes. And it seemed like a bad time."

Yuri had been so stupid this whole time. He'd let himself be blinded by his own rage and betrayal. He was exactly the child people treated him as. Yuri stared at his feet angrily, tears blurring his vision against his will- at himself, at his own behavior, his own idiocy,

"You shouldn't feel bad," Yuuri said, his voice gentle. "I still shouldn't have kept it from you as long as I did, I should have approached you after and made you listen. And I wish I could make it up to you."

"You could lose to me," Yuri joked.

"I already have." Yuuri's words made him glance up in surprise. Yuuri smiled ruefully. "You've proven that even without a mark you can be strong. You beat me at the competition back in Hasetsu by a landslide. You're amazing."

Yuri couldn't hear past his heart thudding in his chest. These words were ones he had always wanted to hear, but they felt wrong.

"You don't need somebody standing by your side and supporting you because you can do it twice as good on your own," Yuuri said somberly. "And I understand if you don't want to acknowledge being my soulmate. I am willing to step back and watch from the sideline, not as a soulmate, but as a friend."

 _No._  

This was all wrong. It was exactly what he wanted- to fight alone, to do whatever he wanted and not have to worry about disappointing his soulmate. But hearing it come from Yuuri's mouth, it felt like an insult. It felt like he was being left behind. 

He didn't want to let go.

The elevator shifted and groaned, and then it started moving again. Yuri could almost physically see Yuuri slipping between his fingers, out of reach. He couldn't speak, his tongue thick and eyes still burning with humiliated, desperate tears. 

 _Please don't leave me._  

The elevator dinged and the doors started to slide open. Yuuri moved, stepped towards the door. Yuri's heart slammed in his chest as he whisked by, and it rose into his throat when Yuuri reached out and brushed his fingers against Yuri's still fisted hand lightly.

He reached out and slammed the button to shut the doors before he even had the chance to consider the consequences. 

Yuuri froze in surprise, and the doors eased shut right in front of his face. When they finally closed, Yuri could breathe just a little bit, and he pressed the button for the lobby floor. 

The elevator started to move.

"Yurio?" Yuuri sounded concerned as he turned around, blinking rapidly. "What-"

"Don't call me that," Yuri said under his breath, and then he grabbed Yuuri by the hem of his shirt and pulled him forward. Yuuri exhaled sharply in surprise and before he could say a word Yuri lifted his head and kissed him.

And the first thing he realized was that kissing the real Yuuri was a _hell_  of a lot nicer than dreaming about it.

Yuuri's lips were soft, and his breath was warm as the remnants of his surprised noise was caught between them. He tasted a little bit like cherry, probably from chapstick, and it was addicting. But his lips were frozen and refused to yield.

"Yuri," he gasped against his mouth, leaning back slighty with bewildered eyes. "What are y-"

"Jesus, you talk a lot," Yuri growled, moving closer until Yuuri was against a wall. He gripped the hem of his sweatshirt tighter between his hands, daring him to move. "I'm your soulmate, aren't I?" 

When Yuri leaned up to kiss him again, Yuuri didn't fight him. He reached up and looped his arms around Yuuri's neck, making the height difference easier to battle. His heart was in his throat, but it still felt wrong, and when Yuuri rested his hands on Yuri's sides it was to push him away gently.

"Yurio, don't."

The words stung and he was tempted to kiss him again to get payback, but Yuuri kept talking.

"Think about this. If you're only doing this to prove something to yourself, it isn't right for either of us." Yuuri sounded a little breathless as he tightened his grip. "You don't have anything to prove. And if it's about Viktor-"

"It's not about _Viktor_." Yuri hated the way his voice shook. "It's about _me_  being selfish. I have half a mind to lock you up in this elevator."

"But you wouldn't."

"No shit."

"You don't have to force yourself," Yuuri pressed on. "Soulmates aren't always romantic. And, like I said, I'm willing to step back-"

"And if I don't want to?" Yuri's voice rose to a challenge as he dropped his head into Yuuri's neck and starting pressing his lips along his collarbone. He loved the way Yuuri's breath caught. "What if I want you all to myself?"

"You don't..."

"You don't know anything about what I want." Yuri pulled back and dug his fingers into Yuuri's hair. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to cut my mark off anymore, and it's because of you. I want to steal you away from Viktor and keep you to myself."

Yuuri was silent for a long time, his eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. When Yuri reached up to kiss him again, he stopped him by pressing his forehead to Yuri's, his breath fanning over his face, warm and intoxicating.

"Slow down," Yuuri said quietly. "I can't do this right now. You're young-"

"I'm not _that_  young-"

"You're fifteen," Yuuri pointed out sternly. "And it's too early for you to make a choice. I want you to think about it before you do something you regret."

"You just want Viktor more, don't you?" His voice sounded small and he hated it, he hated the insecurities rising to the surface. "I'm not enough."

"Don't think for a second that's true," Yuuri said, surprisingly sharp. "I care about you and Viktor equally. Not just as my soulmates but as my friends. I just don't think you're in a state where you can make that decision on your own."

Yuri bit his lip nervously. But he had a point. He dropped his arms from Yuuri's neck and stepped back, staring at the ground. 

"Also," Yuuri added, his voice changing to be lighter, "you could use a bit of work in the kissing department. I can tell you don't have much experience."

"Don't make me kiss you again to shut you up, _katsudon_ ," he snapped, looking up. Yuuri just laughed his pretty laugh in response and his breath caught in his throat at the sound. "Alright. I'll do some serious thinking like you said. But."

"Oh, God," Yuuri said with a smirk. Yuri hit him in the chest. 

"But you have to kiss me one more time." Yuuri looked like he was about to argue but he interrupted him, "I mean _actually_  kiss me. So I know what to look forward to when I finish thinking and beat Viktor to you."

"Beat him?" Yuuri sounded alarmed. "What have I done? I never meant to start a rivalry...."

"We can either sit here and argue about whether or not I'm going to laugh in Viktor's face when I have you as mine, or you can shut up and do what I said."

"You're bossy, Yurio. It's unattractive." 

Before Yuri could bite out a response Yuuri moved forward pressed their lips together, and time stopped moving. 

This kiss was different from all the ones before it, imaginary and not. It was _real_ , and the air seemed to be charged with electricity as Yuuri's lips moved against his own, his hands falling to hold onto his hips. Yuri was too stunned to respond, but when Yuuri started to pull back instinct kicked in. He grabbed Yuuri's face and kissed him back with every last ounce of anger and determination he had left within him.

Yuuri exhaled in surprise and the slow, exploratory kiss quickly grew less innocent when Yuri dragged his tongue across his lower lip. Yuuri made a small noise in the back of his throat that made Yuri shiver and Yuuri turned to flip him against the wall of the elevator. The bar pressed into his lower back painfully but he didn't care because Yuuri's mouth was on his and his tongue was in his mouth and everything burned in the best way.

All too soon the elevator stumbled to a halt, and Yuuri's hands fell from his hips as he stepped back a step and they both caught their breath.

Yuri expected him to leave without a word, but as the doors opened Yuuri pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth and murmured, "Payback."

And then he was gone, stepping out of the door with a smirk on his face. Yuri watched him go, numb and still charged with electricity. Just before the doors shut he had the mind to cup his hands around his mouth and yell into the lobby-

"I'm gonna kick your ass at the Rostelecom Cup!"

He was pretty sure he heard Yuuri laugh, but it could have been somebody else. Then again, nobody else's laugh could make his stomach fill with butterflies like that, so it must have been him.

 _Don't think for a second I'll go easy on you,_ katsudon _,_ he thought with a grin. _I'll still be the one with a gold medal at the end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised: **feb. 20 2017** for TYPOS only


	6. Allegro Appassionato

The _agape_  that Yuri put on display the following day during his short program was a kind nobody had ever witnessed before.

It was not about a lover who had been screwed over one too many times. It was not shoving a pair of scissors down his spine to erase all presence of weakness. It was not about a stupid childhood crush or somebody coming home to a used bed. It was something else entirely.

If Yuri was being honest with himself, it was kissing Yuuri in an elevator. It was losing his fingers in his dark hair and leaving no room or space for argument. It was not wanting to let go even when the doors had opened. It was Yuuri's laugh.

When he finally stepped off the ice he did not feel like he had just won a battle. He felt like he'd won the whole war. The way Viktor and Yuuri gaped at him gave him more satisfaction than he wanted to admit, too.

It was different. He'd taken a fall on the first jump, but the feeling was different, and everybody around him could tell. When he sat down with Yakov in the Kiss and Cry, his coach was unusually silent, the usual lecture dead on his tongue, and it filled Yuri with an uneccesarily large amount of satisfaction.

The score went up. 98.09. It wasn't stellar, but that didn't matter- the free skate was where it counted. If he pulled it off right, he could beat _katsudon_  by a landslide yet, so he decided that was exactly what he was going to do. Yakov tried to lecture him, but as usual he had no ears for it and simply went up into the bleachers to watch.

Oh, _great_. It was JJ.

Yuri had never liked JJ. Not just because of his shitty, narcissistic attitude, but also because he was good, _really good_ , and he made it look like it was nothing. Yuri spent months working his ass off to perfect his routine and JJ spent hours, and yet he was better at landing large jumps so his technical score annihilated Yuri's every time.

He had to make his free skate stronger. Especially with the score JJ pulled this time, topping both him and Yuuri- he needed to step it up and increase the difficulty. If he raised his arms he could get more points, and maybe he could move a couple of jumps into the second half, but that was also risky because he was exhausted by that point normally-

"You have to go back!"

Yuri paused, halting his steps towards the exit as Yuuri's voice reached his ears. He was talking to Viktor rather urgently, his voice raised higher than usual, and Viktor seemed upset. 

"Like I said, I can't." Viktor pressed a weary hand to his forehead, looking more distressed than Yuri had ever seen him. He sighed before glancing towards Yuri, his eyes widening. "Yakov!"

Yuri stiffened. What the hell did he want with Yakov? The disgruntled noise his coach made expressed his mutual questioning of Viktor's behavior, so obviously he was just as clueless as Yuri as to what on earth was going on. Was Viktor trying to rub his loss to Yuuri in his face? Because Yuri had a few choice words for him if he was.

"Thank God," Viktor gasped, putting his hands on Yakov's shoulders in a rare display of desperation. "Yakov. You're the only coach for me."

Yuri scowled in confusion as Yakov raised an eyebrow. "What? You want to come back?" He seemed amused by the thought of that, and Yuri glanced towards the Japanese skater questioning, who looked like he was about to break down.

Weird. Yuri wondered what the hell was going on with him and Viktor, and whether or not he'd like it. If he found out about Viktor doing anything that would hurt him, he would break every bone in his body and use them to make borscht-

"Can you be Yuuri's coach, just for tomorrow?"

 Yuri's violent thoughts came to an abrupt and startled halt as he turned his gaze back to Viktor, who didn't look like he was joking as he originally thought. His face was more serious than it had ever been before, and even Yakov looked taken aback as he narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"Why? Are you taking a break or something?" Yakov scoffed. "I know you're a newbie, but coaches don't take vacations-"

"It isn't a vacation." Viktor tightened his hold on Yakov's shoulders desperately. "I have to fly back to Japan because Makkachin is in the hospital."

 _Makkachin_ \- wasn't that his stupid mutt? Yuri resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that, because it was just another example of why cats were better: they rarely got sick in comparison to dogs. Yuri bet on his life that the dog had gotten into something he shouldn't have.

"Why me?" Yakov still seemed unconvinced. "Can't you find somebody else to fill in that doesn't already have a skater on their hands?"

"Because you're the only one I can trust." Viktor sighed and let go of his shoulders, instead shoving them in his pockets- a nervous habit Yuri was well familiar with. He decided this must be more serious than he thought. "I told you when I left Russia that you're the best coach I could have asked for, and I only want the best for Yuuri. I will be forever indebted to you if you agree to this."

"Indebted?" Yakov laughed. "That's rare coming from you, Vitya. You hate it when people have something held over your head."

Viktor flinched, just a little bit, but Yuri noticed immediately and scowled in confusion. Clearly there was something there he wasn't aware of. And there was nothing Yuri hated more than being left out. Yakov and Viktor's relationship had always been rather straightforward, even with Viktor acting like a clingy child most of the time- but they were definitely closer than most coaches.

Yuri could say with certainty that his relationship with Yakov was much different than Viktor's. It was hard to say _what_  Viktor and Yakov's relationship was, it was... different, nonconforming. But he guessed nothing about Viktor really conformed.

Yuri really envied that about him, as disgusting as jealousy was. He also envied how close he was to Yuuri, but that was different, less abstract.

"Fine." Yakov broke the silence and ran a tired hand through his hair. "I'll be the Japanese Yuuri's coach, but only for tomorrow. And I'm holding you to your promise."

Viktor immediately sighed in relief and hugged Yakov, earning an angry shout and a threat to retract his statement, but Yuri wasn't paying attention to them. Yuuri stood behind them, and despite Yakov's agreement he looked no less placated, his hands wrung together and face pale. Yuri wondered if he was sick, but then Yuuri suddenly snapped back to attention and caught his gaze.

Yuuri smiled a little tentatively and his heart stopped for a solid three seconds before he finally had the mind to look away, red-faced. Still, he couldn't help but sneak a glance back to Yuuri a moment afterwards, and Yuuri caught him once more, looking amused now.

 _Tch_. He was wasting his time. Still, he couldn't fight back the bubbly feeling in his chest, and it stayed there for the next few hours. That was, until Viktor showed up in front of his apartment at eleven o clock at night.

“You what?”

“I have to leave,” Viktor repeated, his voice bordering on desperate. “Which means Yuuri will be alone for the night. I need you to stay with him so he doesn't hurt himself.”

Yuri scoffed. After all this time, and he was still too petty to ask for help, instead he just made demands-

“Please.” The word sounded so foreign to him, even in his own mother tongue, that Yuri almost didn't recognize it coming from Viktor’s mouth. “I’m begging you, Yurio. Can you stay with Yuuri tonight?”

“Begging?” Yuri almost choked on his own tongue in surprise. Maybe this was more serious than he'd thought, because Viktor _never_  asked for help- the scene with Yakov happened once in a blue moon, but to ask _him?_ Never. “Can’t he stay on his own?”

“No.” Viktor’s voice left no room for argument. “He gets too anxious before competitions. It’s not good for him-”

“He isn’t a kid, I’m sure one night without his precious Viktor at his side won’t kill him.” Yuri hated the idea of Viktor fawning over him for the simplest things. Yuuri was strong, but he certainly wouldn't feel like it with Viktor's nagging.

“Fine,” Viktor said, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine, you don’t have to stay with him. But promise me you’ll at least be there if he needs you.”

“Needs me? Ha-”

“Yuri,” Viktor snapped, his voice colder than before as he rested his hands on Yuri’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I know I haven’t been the best role model for you, but Yuuri doesn’t deserve to be left alone if he’s emotionally unwell. I know you guys don’t get along, but he speaks highly of you for some reason, and if he can’t get to me in the middle of a panic attack I need you to promise me that you can help him.”

 _Panic attack_?

Jesus Christ, Yuri knew he had issues with self-confidence, but he hadn’t realized it was a bigger situation than he’d thought. He didn’t know much, if anything, about mental illnesses, but he wasn’t about to leave Yuuri alone if he had a panic attack. He knew that much. 

“Okay.” Yuri bit his tongue at the enthusiasm that immediately flooded Viktor’s face and instead glared at the wall behind him. “I’ll stay with him just this once. But don’t let this inflate your head- I’m doing it for him, not you.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. “I thought you hated Yuuri!”

Oh, boy, Viktor sure had a lot of catching up to do. It filled him with a bit of vicious satisfaction that Viktor was completely blinded to what he’d been doing to his precious student in the background, but he also felt bad.

Whatever. Viktor had been the one to shove this soulmate shit in his face since the beginning: he would probably take it as some kind of personal victory. He’d be hearing _I told you so’_ s for the next eighty years.

What he had with Yuuri wasn’t like the cheesy soulmate scam that was being shoved down his throat. It was different- he didn’t rely on Yuuri, he was able to stand up on his own, he just enjoyed his presence. He hadn’t fallen for him because he was his soulmate, like Viktor had, but as a person.

Wait- he hadn’t _fallen_ for Yuuri Katsuki. He just… liked him aesthetically. That was all. And he had a particular fondness for kissing him in the elevator. Platonically, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they had the same mark.

After all, he’d had a dream about getting heavy with him before he’d known he was his soulmate. So it was as unrelated as it was humiliating.

“No,” Yuri said, snapping back to the present. “I don’t hate the stupid _katsudon_ , I just find him mostly intolerable.”

He could just kiss that pretty mouth shut if he got too noisy. Yuri wondered vaguely if Viktor would take kindly to him trying to steal Yuuri while he was gone. Wondered how he would feel if he put a big, dark hickey right on top of his god damn soulmark while Yuuri was sleeping.

Nah. Yuuri wouldn't be too fond of that.

“I'm glad!” Viktor clapped his hands together before patting his head with a bright smile. “Thank you so much, Yurio. You’re the best! You’re nice, deep down!”

“Oh, quit acting like that,” Yuri spluttered, swatting his hand away and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like you’re so much nicer than me. Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

Right. Viktor had pinned him on his way back to his hotel room to beg for him to take care of his student, and now he had a half hour to catch his plane. Viktor hurriedly thanked him again before bolting, presumably to go pack his things and mooch off of Yuuri a little bit before he left.

Disgusting. He was already regretting his decision.

That was, until he received a call from Yuuri at about two in the morning. He wouldn’t have bothered picking up if it weren’t for the fact that there were two missed calls before it. Yuri fumbled in the dark until he picked it up and immediately fell back against the mattress once he did, pressing the phone to his ear.

“What-”

“Yurio,” Yuuri croaked from the other side. His voice was small and weak, and it sounded abused and hoarse. It immediately set Yuri on alert. There was a brief period of ragged breathing and something shuffling around before Yuuri whispered again, “Yurio. I….”

Yuuri sounded like he had swallowed a cactus- that, or he’d been crying. Flashbacks of Viktor’s speech came back to him and he sat up immediately, running a hand through his hair as worry seized his chest.

“Oi, _katsudon_ , what are you doing at this hour?” He hated the panic that edged in his voice, and instead replaced it with irritation. “Honestly, do you guys ever sleep?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri said quietly on the other side, his voice sounding pained. He was nothing like the easily flustered and bouncy Yuuri he knew, instead he seemed small and afraid. “I’m sorry, I don’t- I just, there’s….”

“Christ. What’s your room number?”

“My-?”

“Your room number,” Yuri repeated slowly, dragging himself out of bed and pulling on an oversized t-shirt with black pawprints all over the front. “I’m coming over.”

“No, you don’t… I’m just- it’s nothing,” Yuuri broke off, and there was more shuffling before he whimpered slightly. “I’m sorry-”

“Stop fucking apologizing and give me your room number, or I’ll knock on every single room in this hotel in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear until I find you.”

There was a long silence, and Yuri feared that he’d only made things worse, but then there was a shaky exhale and Yuuri breathed out quietly, “322.”

Yuri was making his way upstairs with a water bottle in his hand before the door to his hotel room even shut. Yuuri was going on about how he didn’t have to come and that he was fine, but Yuri ignored him in favor of running through the guides he’d read online for how to deal with panic attacks. They probably weren’t the most reliable, but he was desperate, and it wasn’t like he’d had a doctor sitting by to walk him through it.

When he knocked on Yuuri’s door, there was no response. Yuri was starting to think he had given him a fake door number when suddenly the door cracked open and he saw a familiar face streaked with tears.

“Yurio,” he whispered, his lips trembling. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-”

Yuri let himself in the hotel room before he could finish his sentence and immediately wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s middle. It felt natural, right- for a moment Yuuri was frozen stiff before he fell apart and sank to the floor, dragging Yuri with him.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri whispered over and over again, his voice shaking. “I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just… I kept thinking and I was alone, and I thought I could do this but I can’t….”

Yuri found that looking at him like this was painful. His eyes were red, his face streaked with tears, his hands trembling from how hard he was clenching them. He looked like he was on the edge of collapse- it was an ugly cry, but it was also haunting. Before he could stop himself, Yuri was reaching out and brushing away the hair that had fallen in his face gently, holding it back. Yuuri glanced up at him almost fearfully and Yuri immediately felt like shit.

Yuuri had been in here freaking out and asking for help and he’d yelled at him. What was wrong with him?

“Stop apologizing,” Yuri muttered, his voice considerably softer as he brushed his thumb over Yuuri’s tear-soaked cheekbone, wiping the remaining wetness away. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t care about what time it is. Do I look like I sleep?”

He meant it rhetorically, but Yuuri seemed to squint at him uncertainly for a long enough time to make him squirm before shaking his head a little. “Not really. Do I?”

“Uh.” Yuri blinked, still rhythmically brushing his thumb over his cheek as the tears continued to fall in slow streams. “Not sure. You hide it pretty well, if you don’t.”

“Hide it?”

“Yeah. You’re always perky at competitions, like a puppy or something.” Yuri smirked a little bit as he considered it. “It’s cute.”

 _Cute_? What the hell was he saying now? But then Yuuri smiled and the thought was gone like the wind, replaced with a strong need to keep the trembling smile there. He shifted so that instead of crouching in front of Yuuri, he was sitting with his knees to his chest at his side, humming thoughtfully.

“I thought you didn’t like dogs, Yurio,” Yuuri pointed out.

“Yeah, well, I can make an exception for puppies.” Yuri shrugged, leaning against Yuuri and feeling to the rather rapid rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “They’re cute and not insanely ginormous like that stupid mutt Viktor carries around.”

“Makkachin’s cute!”

“If you like horses,” Yuri said with a scoff. Yuuri’s breathing calmed a little, and when he suddenly grabbed his hand and started playing with his fingers he didn’t bother questioning it. Yuuri’s hand was warm and soft as he threaded their fingers together and nibbled his lip thoughtfully.

“Your hands are always cold,” Yuuri said suddenly. “Like, freezing. Is it a Russia thing?”

“A _Russia_ thing? I don’t know, is asking random ass questions a Japan thing?” Yuri wanted to bite his tongue off, especially when Yuuri started to retract his hand. He quickly intertwined their fingers again and brought them into his own lap. “Sorry, not what I meant.”

Yuuri stared at their locked fingers for a moment before wiggling his own a little. “You don’t say what you mean a lot, Yurio.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Yuri didn’t take his eyes off of their hands. “Russian punks don’t have time for honesty. I’m too tough for that kind of stuff.”

“You are tough,” Yuuri agreed. “I wish I was.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Yuri cast him a glance, eyebrow raised. “You’re way stronger than me or that asshole coach of yours. You got all the way to the Grand Prix Finals last year like it was nothing. And you’re going to make it this year, too.”

“I’m not.” Yuuri’s voice shook and his hand loosened slightly as he caved in on himself once more. “I’m not going to win. I’m going to fail, and Viktor’s going to go back to Russia.”

“There’s no way he’ll go back to Russia. Do you really think anyone would want to leave you after meeting you?”

 _Shiiiiiit_. He was just full of surprises today, wasn’t he? This was why he didn’t agree with Viktor’s plans.

“What about you?” Yuuri still sounded small. “You left Hasetsu without saying goodbye after the Onsen on Ice. You disappeared.”

“Yeah. Well.” Yuri dropped his gaze. “I’m not honest with myself, either, like you said.”

“You should've stayed,” Yuuri mumbled, leaning down until his head was pressed into Yuri’s arm, curled up in a fetal position. “My mom’s _katsudon_ is amazing.”

Yuri half wanted to remind Yuuri that he'd already tried the stupid pork cutlet bowl (which was amazing) but suddenly another thought came to mind and he couldn't fight a small smile as he dropped his chin on Yuuri’s head and let him move closer.

“Yeah,” Yuri agreed quietly. “Her _katsudon_ really is amazing.”

And it really didn't feel like he was talking about the dish.

* * *

About an hour and a half later Yuri had convinced him to move to his bed, but Yuuri refused to stay unless Yuri laid with him, which left him here- curled up, facing Yuuri who was so close he could feel every cool breath fanning over him face.

He was going to die of a stroke at 15 years old thanks to Yuuri Katsuki. 

"I'm worried for Viktor," Yuuri murmured tiredly, pulling at the edge of the blanket above them nervously. The trapped body heat made it feel like it was a hundred degrees, but Yuuri didn't seem affected at all. "He really cares about Makka."

"I'm sure that thing's fine," Yuri replied half-heartedly, rolling his eyes. "He ate an entire bowl of pirozhkis back at our apartment in St. Petersburg and didn't flinch. But he did vomit for three days straight. Plus, Viktor has a way of avoiding bad luck. The most traumatic thing he's experienced in his twenty-eight years is losing a tooth in the middle of class"

Yuuri giggled quietly before pausing, eyebrows pulling together. "You shared an apartment with Viktor?" He paused before remembrance flickered in his eyes. "Oh yeah, Viktor said that a while back. He mentioned some accident...."

"Accident, huh?" The bitterness in Yuri's voice made Yuuri glance up curiously. "That figures."

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

For a moment Yuri nearly denied him, but then he saw the almost desperate look in Yuuri's eyes and realization struck him in the face. Yuuri was still shaken from his episode- face paler than normal, hands trembling slightly against the pillow as he curled against it. He was trying to distract himself.

"It's nothing important," Yuri said reluctantly, but the way Yuuri relaxed slightly edged him on. "By accident, he meant the first time I... did what you saw me doing back in Hasetsu."

"Oh." Yuuri's expression fell a little bit and suddenly he reached out and grabbed Yuri's hand, his fingers warm against Yuuri's, which were cold and trembling. Yuri couldn't tell whether he was searching for comfort or giving it, but it seemed to work both ways. "Did Viktor find you?"

"Yep. I have a really bad habit of running into people when I do that," Yuri said, going for satirical but ending up just feeling worse. He sighed as Yuuri ran a thumb over the back of his hand softly. "Hey, _katsudon._ "

"Mmhm?" Yuuri didn't seem to be paying attention, simply staring at their entwined hands as if searching for something there.

"You're a lot stronger than you think you are." The compliment felt weird spoken out loud, but when Yuuri glanced up at him and parted his lips to argue he pressed on. "I'm not pulling your leg. You don't give yourself a lot of credit. Viktor's lucky to have you, and he should have been ther for you when you called him."

Leaving the words hanging in the air felt like he was rolling over and exposing himself, especially when Yuuri fell quiet, his eyes unreadable in the darkness. Yuri only realized he was holding his breath when the room started to spin, so he exhaled quietly and sank further into the bed sheets, figuring Yuuri had fallen asleep.

"I didn't." Yuuri's voice was quiet when he spoke, sounding conflicted. "I didn't call him. I called you first."

 _Oh_. But why? Why him and not Viktor-

"I don't know why," Yuuri continued as if reading his mind, but when he finally met Yuri's eyes he smiled just a little bit. "I'm glad I did, though. I got to see a nicer side of you."

Way to ruin the moment. "Hey, I can be nice if I want to, I just usually don't bother wasting my time on faking it."

"So you were faking it?"

"Totally," Yuri scoffed.

"Ah. I see," Yuuri said, his lips twitching as he fought a grin. "Well, it was pretty convincing. You seemed really worried-"

"I was not worried about a stupid _katsudon_  like yourself!" His voice rose defensively, which only made Yuuri grin wider. "I was just sick of you calling, that's all."

"Clearly." Yuuri couldn't seem to wipe the grin off of his face, eyes sparkling with amusement, and Yuri was once again overwhelmed by just how unreal this person was- he was so gentle and fragile yet completely unbreakable at the same time. There were so many sides to him he had seen and likely many more he hadn't seen, and every cell in his body yearned to unearth them. 

He wanted to stay by Yuuri's side for a long time.

The thought was terrifying, but at the same time the way his heart clenched at how _right_  it felt made him dizzy with happiness. Yuri had only ever separated himself from people, distanced them, even his own soulmate: but now that person was right in front of him and he never wanted to let him go. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Suddenly there was a pressure on the corner of his mouth, and he realized he was smiling just a little, the edges of his lips pulled up as he stared at Yuuri. His finger against his mouth was cool but no longer trembled, and when Yuri met his eyes they had the same determined glint in them he saw when Yuuri skated. Having it inches away from his face was entirely different.

"You should smile more," Yuuri murmured, his voice quieter than before.

"I don't have many reasons to smile, usually." His own honesty was starting to scare him- whatever Yuuri was doing to him had a lot to do with it. He averted his gaze, but then Yuuri's finger moved from his mouth to the side of his head, holding it carefully- searching, he had that sparkle in his eyes he always had when he was looking for something.

"You're nothing like Viktor," Yuuri claimed abruptly.

"Surprise?" Yuri couldn't help but lift an eyebrow as he glanced back to him, thrown off by the sudden exclamation. 

"I mean, I just find it funny. Viktor is always smiling, and you rarely smile. He is straightforward and you're anything but. It isn't a bad thing," Yuuri assured him when he scowled. 

"Would you rather I be like him?" 

"No. Definitely not." Yuuri said it with a surprising amount of conviction as he continued to play with Yuri's hair, the sensation of Yuuri's fingers running along his scalp intoxicating. He leaned into his touch as Yuuri continued. "You're amazing the way you are. The only thing I'd want to change is how often you smile."

Yuri glanced away with something like shame. He wasn't sure how he had ended up soulmates with somebody as kind and selfless as Yuuri- or Viktor, for that matter- and thus he was left with a constant weight of self-doubt and a feeling of not deserving what he had in front of him. That was why it was so hard to look Yuuri in the eye.

"Well... actually, no. That makes it sound a little more selfless and honorable than it actually is," Yuuri amended thoughtfully.

Yuri glanced up in confusion, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"It's not just that I want you to smile more." Yuuri ran his fingers through Yuri's hair once again before his hand fell to his neck, tickling the nape gently and sending a shiver along Yuri's spine. "I... I want to be the one who makes you smile. That's pretty selfish, huh?"

Yuri could barely hear past his heartbeat thudding in his chest, a rapid thrum against his ribs that made him feel like he was underwater. Yuuri's gaze was a lot more intense than before,but he couldn't look away.

"I guess I started out with honest enough intentions," Yuuri continued, his voice quieting as if he was talking to himself. "But somewhere in the middle I got confused between my own wants and desires and what you needed and now it's too late to fix it. I guess, in the process, I made this a lot harder than it should have been."

"What are you talking about?" Yuri was hesitant, afraid to be drawing conclusions that would only hurt him, but the hope fluttering in his chest refused to be stamped down.

"I like you, Yuri."

Yuuri's voice was a lot softer than before but to Yuri it could have been nothing more than a whisper and he would have heard him. The words laid thick in the air between them- honest and straightforward, just like Yuuri himself. He had a way of always taking Yuri by surprise.

Yuri couldn't breathe, too afraid that if he did he would break this fantasy his brain had conjured up, but eventually the world started to spin and he exhaled shakily.

He didn't know whether Yuuri was telling the truth or pulling his leg, but it sounded like the former to him. Yuuri had never lied to him before, so why-

"I shouldn't, though." The words left Yuuri's mouth and ice filled Yuri's bones. "I keep pushing you to accept your fate as a result of my own feelings. You said from the start that you didn't want your soulmate to change who you were, but now I've gone and caught myself up in my own feelings. I'm just going to hurt you."

Yuri felt like he was being torn in two- half of him wanted to beg Yuuri to shut up, that he cared for him and it didn't matter, but the other part of him that hated his soulmark was lividly agreeing with him.

Yuri had always been divided. He'd always been fighting himself, fighting the black ink on his back- but it was a constant battle and he only ended up hurting himself in the end. Back and forth, left and right- there was no middle ground, only a constant state of argument. He didn't know which part of him won over: his desire to get rid of his mark and separate himself from it, or his desire to be loved and accepted. 

He only wanted to be stronger. That had always been his end goal: to succeed. 

Viktor had called him an ever-evolving monster willing to do anything to excel, and he had been right. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't change that. All it took was a deep breath and closing his eyes and he could see his name in sixth place, could see himself with a bronze medal in his hands, see his grandfather's dull eyes wrinkling in an effort to remain supportive. _Russian prodigy Yuri Plisetsky nothing more than a scam._  

He had spent all this time trying to convince others that he was more than just a kid with big expectations playing with a bunch of adults. He wanted to be more, he wanted to be _better_  than everyone else, to prove he wasn't some overachieving teenager bound to fall once he got to the serious competitions.

Yuri wanted to be the best, and instead he was looked down upon. He hated that more than anything else- but when Yuuri looked at him, he didn't treat him like a joke. He saw him as a serious competitor.

Yuri had spent so long convinced that his soulmate would only drag him down, that it was supposed to identify him, but in the end it had been the complete opposite.

When he was with _katsudon_ , he never felt underestimated. He felt like he was a legitimate skater. He felt _stronger._  

"You're wrong," Yuri said finally. "You aren't hurting me, and you're not going to. If anything, you've helped me."

Yuuri stared him, disbelief battling in his eyes. Yuri despised that he doubted himself, that he ever thought he was anything less than amazing. He wanted Yuuri to _know_. 

"You've proved me wrong. I always hated my soulmark, but you helped me come to turns with it." Yuri's gaze skirted away, embarrassment making heat rise to his face. "You could have left me in the bathroom that day back in Hasetsu, but instead you helped me. So, I don't care if you change who I am, 'cause you made me stronger. Even if I don't really say that."

"Really?" Yuuri still didn't seem convinced, but hope glittered in his eyes. 

Yuri couldn't help but smirk. "No, I was reciting my lines for a school play, what did you think I was doing?"

"Asshole," Yuuri said, but his unamused grumble dissolved into a laugh anyways. The sound was one Yuri was quickly becoming familiar with, but even so it was a relief to hear it after his breakdown earlier. Eventually laughter bubbled in his own chest, strange and unfamiliar, and their laughs filled the silence. It was a rare and brief moment, but Yuri held onto it as long as he could.

Somewhere in the middle Yuri glanced up and saw Yuuri smiling down at him, his eyes gentle, and then suddenly he was kissing him, and it was the only thing that mattered. He wasn't sure who leaned in first, or if there was really any distinction, but it made no different because all Yuri cared about was his mouth and his tongue. Everything else paled.

He had kissed Yuuri a number of times, but none of them compared to this one. Yuuri kissed him long and slow, until there was no space left for breathing and Yuri wanted to melt where he laid, stop time and stay here forever. Yuuri pulled back to breathe but he quickly rolled on top of him and pinned his arms by Yuuri's head before stealing his lips once more. 

At some point they ended up separating just to catch their breaths, and Yuri took the time to really appreciate the sight beneath him- Yuuri's eyes blown wide and his hair disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks rosy as his chest rose and fell in brief gasps for air. He looked wrecked, just like he had in Yuri's dream, and he wanted nothing more than to do exactly to him what Yuuri had done in that dream, to violate him and mark him. 

Yuri leaned down and his lips brushed over Yuuri's jaw, pausing to appreciate the slight hitch in his breath before dropping further and nuzzling into the junction between his collarbone and neck, kissing the exposed and heated skin and lightly dragging his tongue over it. 

Yuuri whimpered slightly under him and adjusted to give him better access, and Yuri gladly took it, dragging a path down his skin with his tongue and peppering light kisses across the damp skin. He kissed the spot just above the edge of Yuuri's large nightshirt before his lips ghosted over a slight raise in the skin just above his breast that made his blood run cold.

Viktor. 

Unlike in his dream, Yuri did not have complete control over Yuuri- Viktor still had a mark on his skin as well, and he had probably kissed the same skin himself. Nausea welled in the pit of his stomach as he leaned back, sitting on his haunches over top of Yuuri and ignoring his concerned, questioning gaze.

Yuri had forgotten about Viktor for a few blissful moments, but what about Yuuri? Had he only calld him here because he was lonely? Did he miss Viktor's lips on his skin so much that he was willing to have Yuri substitute?

"Yurio," Yuuri whispered as he scooted up and reached for him. "What's wrong?"

No, _no_ \- that didn't make sense. Yuuri had been so honest with him. There was no way he could have faked that, right? He chewed anxiously on the inside of his cheek, waging a battle in his head until Yuuri brushed his fingers over his cheekbone worriedly, eyes searching.

No. There was no way Yuuri had called him here as a substitute.

"What am I to you?" Yuri asked suddenly, glancing up to meet Yuuri's confused dark eyes. "Am I just a kid? Entertainment? Do you want me to fill in for Vikto-"

"Absolutely not." Yuuri interrupted him with a voice that rang with earnesty, and Yuri immediately felt bad for questioning it. "No- no, you'll never be a replacement, you're yourself. You're Yurio."

"Yeah, but who _am_  I?" 

"I don't get what you're asking." Yuuri frowned at him slightly, dropping his hand. "You're an incredible figure skater. You're my soulmate."

"So is Viktor." Yuri hated how petty he sounded but he couldn't help it, couldn't help the insecurity that clawed at his sanity. "What if one of the marks was a mistake? What if I got your mark because I was meant to be alone- because you already have Viktor?"

"That's impossible." Yuuri shook his head. "I can feel- I can feel our connection. You're just as much my soulmate as Viktor is."

"I don't want to _share_  you!" The words burst out of Yuri's mouth before he could stop them, his fingers gripping the bedsheets desperately. "I'm selfish, I'm childish, whatever, but I can't _stand_  the thought of him, of him doing these things to you- kissing you, or touching you...." 

Yuuri was quiet, his eyes unreadable as he stared at Yuri until he was fidgeting. The silence loomed thick between them until Yuuri finally broke it with a quiet sigh.

"I shouldn't have ignored it for this long," Yuuri murmured, looking at his lap. "If anyone's selfish or childish, it's me for thinking that I could make both of you happy, I had this stupid notion of everyone getting along. I'm sorry, Yurio."

"You're not-" Yuri broke off with a scowl. "It's not your fault. You were born with two soulmates."

"But I can't make everyone happy. It's almost like the universe is laughing at me, because I've always been indecisive." Yuuri shook his head in frustration. "Both you and Viktor mean everything to me. I'm afraid if I make a choice, it'll be the wrong one. My therapist told me a while ago that people with two marks usually have a romantic soulmate, and then a non-romantic one... a platonic one. What if I chose wrong? What if the person I fall in love with is my platonic soulmate?"

Realization hit Yuri hard. All this time he had been obsessing over himself he had never considered Yuuri's feelings, having two soulmates and no guidance at all. He'd been relying so much on Yuuri that he'd forgotten to let Yuuri rely on him.

And he felt like shit about it.

"I..." Yuri struggled to find words for his opinion. "I don't think there's a _right_  or _wrong_  choice. It's your body, your mind- shouldn't you be able to decide for yourself? Nobody ever said, you have to fall in love with your soulmate, did they? There are hundreds of people whose soulmates are their pets, or closest friends- that doesn't mean that they all fall in love."

Yuuri stared at him quietly, his eyes bright with emotion, before he lowered his gaze defeatedly. "I'm afraid that if I don't chose I'll let you both down. I want you guys to be happy more than anything."

"I know. And I'm pretty sure that asshole Viktor knows too." Yuri relaxed a bit at Yuuri's shaky smile. "If you don't fall in love with us, we aren't going to be disappointed. I know for a fact that if you decided you weren't in love with either of us, it wouldn't change how I feel about you. I'll stay here whether or not you... love me, I guess."

God, it felt weird to talk about intense things like love. But when Yuuri stared up at him with a mixture of admiration and relief, it was well worth it. "You would? Even if I chose Viktor?"

"Huh?" Yuri narrowed his eyes. "Hell no. I'm way better than him. Don't think I'd just sit back and let him have you without really trying first."

Yuuri smiled then, a real one, and Yuri noticed with terror that there was a tear sliding down his face. He seemed happy, but he was crying. How the hell did he deal with that?

"What if I fell in love with both of you?" Yuuri said suddenly. "Would you be alright with that?"

Yuri hesitated, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He had never considered sharing _katsudon_  with that asshole Viktor, but somehow he didn't feel too friendly with the idea. The idea of kissing the same lips Viktor had only made him feel even more possessive.

"Dumb question?" Yuuri guessed.

"No... if anything, it's too smart of a question," Yuri said with a quiet laugh. "I don't know. Viktor and I... we don't share well. I'd probably try to steal you away every second of the day if you did that, until you fell in love with me completely."

Yuuri hummed in agreement before grinning. "Like a knight in shining armor?"

"Oh, yeah." Yuri rolled off of him and laid on his side, tucking his arms under his head as Yuuri turned to face him. "I'd swoop in on my royal steed and carry you off to a castle of ice. You'd be the ice queen."

"Pfft," Yuuri snorted as he curled up on his side, scooting closer and intertwining their legs. The proximity was still dizzying, but Yuri loved it. "I think Georgi wins that title."

"True, true." Yuri stifled a laugh as he relented. "Ice princess?"

"Does that make you the prince?"

"Yup. And Viktor would be the steed, a grungy old donkey that carries all of our things." Yuri smiled as Yuuri tried not to laugh. "We can use his hide to decorate the fireplace."

Yuri launched into a fullblown plan for his ice kingdom in detail while Yuuri giggled and added his own ideas, and eventually Yuuri had passed out, gentle snores escaping his mouth. Yuri watched him silently before moving closer and curling up against him, his body heat comforting compared to the feeling of sleeping alone.

 _Good luck, Viktor_ , Yuri thought to himself. _I'll be damned if I don't make_ katsudon _fall in love with me first._

* * *

By the end of the Rostelecom Cup, Yuri was exhausted. He had busted his ass at the free skate, skating with a surprising amount of newfound inspiration after his encounter with Yuuri that stunned Yakov and Lilia to a satisfying degree.

Even so, he had still lost to JJ, which pissed him off to no end, especially after increasing the difficulty to a point that had him toeing the line between consciousness and unconsciousness as he gasped for air at the end and tried to steady his heartrate.

Yuuri had been distracted the whole time, no doubt still anxious about the night before and Viktor's dumb dog, and Yuri didn't blame him. The morning after he'd stayed over he had bought breakfast for Yuuri and woken him up (which led to him discovering that Yuuri was literally a zombie in the morning, after falling asleep in a bagel.)

The whole time Yuuri had seemed zoned out, only offering a muttered goodbye before he went to his own hotel room- with a pair of Yuuri's sweatpants, since running around in a t-shirt and underwear wasn't wholly acceptable in the morning.

Yuuri had just barely managed to slide into the Grand Prix Finals, but even so Yuri knew he was still capable of beating him at the Finals. Yuuri was a strong skater, and he had the excuse of Viktor's disappearance as a distraction.

And honestly, his free skate had been pretty good even with his emotional trauma. Yuri was just glad he wasn't having another panic attack, because that had been terrifying. 

His grandpa stopped by at the end and gave him pirozhkis, and when he tasted the familiar pork, rice, and egg he immediately knew what to do, especially when he saw Yuuri wandering aimlessly, just as braindead as he'd been that morning. He quickly said goodbye to his grandfather before chasing Yuuri out into the snow and giving the pirozhkis to him.

The way his face lit up was something Yuri could never tire of. It was like all the exhaustion and worry seemed to melt away for a bit and he saw the real Yuuri. He was glad he could bring him that.

"Y'know, _katsudon_ ," Yuri said suddenly, breaking the silence as they leaned over the railing and stared at traffic. "I'm keeping to what I said last night."

"Huh?" Yuuri glanced at him, a grain of rice on the side of his mouth. "What part?"

Yuri couldn't help himself as he leaned up until he was eye-level with Yuuri, grinning a little bit. Yuuri stared at him with wide eyes as Yuri leaned in, his lips ghosting over his before deftly moving to the right and licking off the rice quickly. "I'm going to steal you away eventually. Viktor doesn't stand a chance."

Yuri rolled back on his heels before he had a chance to reply and smirked. Yuuri stared at him, eyes wide, before he laughed and rubbed the side of his face. "That's so gross, Yurio! And I wanted that!"

"Whatever!" Yuri blushed and looked away. "You already had two, Viktor's going to scream at me if you get all cute and poofy in the middle of skating season. The last thing you need is extras!"

"Cute and poofy?" Yuuri grinned even wider as Yuri realized his slip. "Aww. I'm so touched. Do you like me better when I'm in shape or when I'm, as you say, poofy?"

"Both!" Yuri snapped before turning red and burying his face in his arms. "Neither! I don't care!"

Yuur dissolved into a fit of laughter. "You're so cute, Yurio. Dishonest, too."

Yuri was pretty sure he looked like a blushing bride at this point but he didn't care. _Cute_? Yuuri thought he was cute? Did he want to be cute? This was too much to deal with right now- he should have never come out here.

"Don't pout," Yuuri whined, pulling him up so he wasn't hiding in his arms. He caught a look at Yuri's red face and struggled to not smile wider. "It's a good thing! I like that about you."

Cardiac arrest. He was going to go into cardiac arrest, and it would be all _katsudon_ 's fault, damn it. "Shut up, I'm trying to woo _you_ , not the other way around!"

Yuuri couldn't contain his laughter at that point, doubling over and clutching his chest. Despite his embarassment, Yuri couldn't help but smile just a little bit, much to his own chagrin. 

"Stop laughing!" Yuri whacked him on the head and Yuuri nodded, desperately trying to stifle his giggles as he wiped tears from his eyes. He still shook quietly with silent laughter as Yuri poked him in the chest. "At the Grand Prix Finals. If I beat you, I'm going to take you out on a date. No arguments."

"A date?" Yuuri stopped laughing long enough to form coherent words, eyes widening. "Like, a fancy one?"

"Ugh, no. I'll probably take you to McDonald's or something and then binge watch some Japanese drama with you." Yuri stuck his tongue out and Yuuri giggled.

"You're such a teenager." 

"That's insulting."

"It's true."

Yuri scowled at him playfully and Yuuri just smirked back until they both relented and suddenly Yuri stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Yuuri's middle, resting his chin on his shoulder. Yuuri blinked in surprise before hugging him back worriedly. "Yurio?"

"I'm dead serious," Yuri said into his coat, closing his eyes. "When I beat you at the GPF, don't be surprised if I take you away from that asshole Viktor. I don't break promises."

Yuuri laughed before nodding, hugging him closer. "I know."

Yuri held onto him for a long time, until the noisy sound of cars grew quieter and he could hear Yuuri's breathing, which sounded uneven. Yuri blinked. "Are you crying?" He started to pull away but Yuuri didn't budge and only tugged him closer, pressing his face into his neck stubbornly.

"I'm not."

"But-"

"I'm not," Yuuri insisted shakily, and Yuri sighed before relenting and leaning back into his hold. "By the way, you're not going to win the Grand Prix Finals. I'll be the one with a gold medal."

"Not if I can help it," Yuri said with a grin. "I'm pretty stubborn, and I don't like it when I don't get what I want."

"What is it that you want, me or the gold?" 

"Same thing." Yuuri adjusted his chin and stared out at the snowy streets behind Yuuri. "But you agree, right? If I win, you'll go on a date with me?"

Yuuri nodded, jacked rustling from the movement. "Any time. Any where. Any place."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Yuri warned. "So don't make any plans with that asshole Viktor in advance."

"Oh, but I will, because I'm going to win gold," Yuuri retorted with a laugh. 

And even though Yuri really wanted to kick his ass in that moment, he just held him tighter and squeezed his eyes shut against the cold. He wished more than ever that he could follow Yuuri all the way back to Japan and keep him far away from Viktor, but that was irrational.

So instead he just let himself live where he was now until finally the cold grew to be too much and Yuri reluctantly released him, but not without kissing him hard and muttering a final, "I'm going to beat you," and they parted ways. 

Yuri felt lonelier than ever, watching Yuuri's back grow smaller and smaller, but he also felt a lot stronger knowing he had something else to fight for at the Grand Prix Finals.

_I'll win against him even if it kills me to do it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised on: **feb. 20 2017** for TYPOS only


	7. Stammi Vicino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for panic attack starting and ending at ******* s!!

Yuri had plans for telling Viktor about him and Yuuri, very specific plans that could have saved his ass if he had listened to them. He had planned to wait until he kicked their ass at the Grand Prix Finals, and once they'd been good and liquored up at the banquet, he'd break the news. Viktor would be sober enough to comprehend, but too drunk to care, and then he would be too busy nursing a hangover the next day to deal with him.

It was a flawless plan. It was also an ignored plan. How it had exactly gone down was this:

Yuri had been on FaceTime with Yuuri two nights before the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, introducing him to Misha. Yuuri, to his merit, seemed utterly fascinated by his beautiful cat (as he ought to be) and probably hadn't heard Viktor come in, but it didn't matter in the long run.

"She looks so soft," Yuuri cooed over the mic, scooting closer to the screen with wide eyes. Yuri snorted as he realised he'd left his glasses off so he couldn't see her well. "What's her name?"

"Misha," Yuri said proudly, stroking under her chin as she sniffed the screen curiously. "My grandpa gave her to me a couple years ago. She's way better than Viktor's mutt. Speaking of which, is it... is he still breathing?"

Yuuri sat back and smiled. "Yeah! Makka was there to greet me at the airport. He seemed really happy to see me."

"Good." At Yuuri's raised eyebrow, he amended quickly, "I don't want to hear that asshole moping around for the rest of the season. If I'm going to win against you, both you and your dumb coach have to be in the best shape or it's not fair."

"You're nice, Yurio," Yuuri said with a sparkle in his eyes. Yuri blushed beet red as he remembered Yuuri saying nearly the same exact thing in his dream- damn it, would he ever get past that? Yuuri blinked at his reaction. "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing's wrong!" Yuri snapped, causing Misha to jump off his lap, irritated at the loud noise. 

"Oh?" Yuuri got a dangerous look to his eyes that immediately made him anxious. "Are you sure? Do you like it when I compliment-"

" _Yuuuuuri! I'm home! Come greet me!_ "

Yuuri paused in surprise before his eyes widened. "Oh! Viktor! Come here, I'm talking to Yurio."

Yuri had to forcibly choke down his jealousy at the fluffiness of the entire thing, already pissed that Viktor had interrupted their first conversation since Rostelecom. Still, he kept his mouth shut and simply glared at Yuuri's back as he saw Viktor's shadow pad into the room before he sat down directly behind Yuuri and dropped his chin on his shoulder.

"Yurio! It's been so long." Viktor's smile was innocent even as his arms wrapped around Yuuri's midsection, drawing out a flustered squeak.

Yuri gritted his teeth in his fury, about a whisper away from shattering his laptop as he glared at Viktor. He wanted nothing more than to rip Viktor's nasty paws off of Yuuri, but he knew it was pointless. Instead, he just sneered at him.

"Don't be so disgusting," Yuri replied in Russian. "You aren't married, so stop clinging to the _katsudon_ like a koala."

"Huh? What was that?" Yuuri scrunched his nose up in confusion. "Are you talking about me?"

"There's nothing wrong with me hugging him," Viktor said back in Russian, smirking as he hugged Yuuri closer and nuzzled his face into in his neck. "He's my soulmate, shouldn't I be affectionate with my Yuuri?"

"Okay, now I _know_  you're talking about me," Yuuri muttered as he squirmed in Viktor's iron grip, but Yuri couldn't hear him past the blood roaring in his ears.

Perhaps it had been a heat of the moment thing, a spark of jealousy that Viktor kept rekindling with his words. Perhaps it was the fact that Yuri was just easy to piss off and had no control over his mouth, or the stress of the Grand Prix, or his strong desire to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off of Viktor's face. Whatever it was, it was too late to stop the muttered response:

"He's not just _your_  soulmate."

Yuri, to his merit, tried to suffocate the words quieter, but he knew by the shift in Viktor's expression that he'd heard. Yuuri still seemed confused, since they were speaking in Russian, but he knew enough that the sudden change in demeanor was serious.

"Hey, wait a minute, what's going on?" Yuuri glanced between Viktor and Yuri worriedly. "Are you guys fighting?"

"What do you mean by that, Yurio?" Viktor's voice was cool as ice as he blatantly ignored Yuuri, continuing in his mother tongue that was much more frightening than his accented English. "Yuuri has my mark. Doesn't that make him my soulmate?"

Yuri bit his tongue hard to keep from speaking, but apparently the fire in his eyes was enough to provoke Viktor, who continued to speak.

"Does this have something to do with your hatred for soulmates?" Viktor's voice seemed almost threatening despite its light presentation, and Yuuri seemed to have gone mute. "I've tried to be understanding about this- but if you're going to try and use that to justify your abhorring to Yuuri and I's relationship-"

"It has nothing to do with that!" Yuri flinched slightly at his raised voice, his breathing uneven as anger welled up in his chest. He was so sick of Viktor bringing it up over and over, constantly shoving his weakness in his face. He couldn't have a half of a conversation with him without being called out, and it was exhausting. "Stop blaming everything I do on that! You make it sound like I have some kind of _disease_."

"Well it certainly isn't normal," Viktor replied coolly, his blue eyes unwavering. "I just want you to be happy, Yurio. If you keep doing this to yourself, you'll just get hurt more. You need to accept it as a part of yourself instead of trying to separate yourself from it."

Yuri glared at him for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "You really don't know anything. It's hilarious."

"Guys," Yuuri pleaded in English, eyes wide with uncertainty, clearly overwhelmed by the rapid fire Russian being shot back and forth. "Can you please calm down and tell me what's going on?"

"Yurio is just being stubborn as usual," Viktor said cheerily, attitude doing a complete three-sixty as he turned to Yuuri and kissed his hair, earning an intense blush that sent Yuri's vision white with rage. "It's nothing to be worried-"

"Don't lie to him," Yuri growled in English, making both Viktor and Yuuri blink in surprise. "Don't you think he deserves to be told the truth? He is your precious _soulmate_ , after all."

Realization dawned on Yuuri's face as he finally understood what they had been arguing about. Of course- it was the only thing Viktor bothered to talk to him about aside from skating. 

"Yurio-"

"If we're going to be honest with Yuuri, then why don't we start with you?" Viktor interrupted, eyebrows raising. "You two seem so close. Aren't you being a bit of a hypocrite?"

"Yuuri knows everyhing he needs to know," Yuri bit out. "Unlike you, I don't lie to his face."

"Is that so?" Viktor tilted his head, and suddenly terror ran straight down Yuri's spine as he remembered one thing he hadn't told Yuuri. "Then, did you tell him about your father?"

Yuri fell silent, his hands drawn into fists at his sides as he quaked silently in rage. This had _nothing_  to do with his father, and there was no reason at all for Viktor to bring it up. The look in Viktor's eyes said it all- he was going straight for home.

Somehow, he'd found out, and it was probably through Yakov. Viktor knew everything about him. No wonder he had fought so hard about his soulmark.

"Viktor...," Yuuri said quietly. "I'm not sure what's going on, but I don't think you should push him."

"No," Viktor disagreed with a hum, "there isn't a better time than now. Yurio hasn't been honest with himself, and if he stays like this he's only going to get hurt. I can't sit back and watch him do this."

"But he's-"

"His father killed his soulmate," Viktor said. "If I let Yuri continue to act like this, I'm putting somebody innocent in danger. So I can't sit here and wait for him to get over it."

Yuuri fell silent, and nausea pulled at the base of Yuri's stomach as he stared at his shaking fists. He didn't want to remember, he didn't want to think about the terrible things that had floated around him since he was little. He'd spent so long trying to suffocate those memories, and now they were all resurfacing thanks to Viktor.

He barely remembered his father. The most he knew about him was his pirozhki, and the smell of it every Monday night before he left for work. Those were the few times Yuri had been able to see him and he'd clung to them hopefully. At the small wooden table over a plate of still-warm buns he would ask his father about work and his father would ask him about skating.

It was because of his father he had gotten into skating. There was a rink near his house and when he was five, his father bought him a pair of skates and signed him up for his first class. Yuri distinctly remembered the weight of the skates in his palms, the polished black blades that he could see his reflection in.

"These are your strength," his father had told him then. "Whenever you feel weak, or tired, or sad, let them give you the power to overcome all of those things. Show the people how strong you are through them. Don't rely on somebody else to support you when you can do it yourself."

Three years after that, his father was arrested for the murder of a woman two years younger than him who had the same soulmark.

Yuri knew that his father loved his mother more than anyone else in the world. He had been convinced that they were soulmates, even when he heard them raise their voices after the pirozhki was gone and he'd crawled into bed. They rarely spoke, but when Yuri's father spoke of mother, his eyes were always so soft. He didn't know if his mother felt the same way, though.

When Yuri found out that his father had killed his soulmate, and that his soulmate wasn't his mother, he was shaken. He had never considered somebody as gentle as kind as his father being able to kill a person, much less his soulmate. Soulmates were supposed to stay together, and yet... he had killed his.

It made him doubt the sprawling ink on his back. At first it had been nothing but beautiful to him, just like his mother said, but the more he thought about it after his father's arrest, the worse he felt. He remembered his father cautiously avoiding the subject, never mentioning his soulmate. Yuri had only received an answer from him once, and he barely remembered much else.

"Papa, can my soulmark change?" Yuri had been young and naive enough the time to ask such a ridiculous question, and normally his father was used to them, but this time his father had drunk a bit more than usual and seemed to stagger through his thoughts.

"Do you want it to?" His father watched him curiously as he tucked Yuri into bed, pulling the leopard-print blanket up to his chin. "Do you not like it?"

"Mama says it's beautiful." Yuuri snuggled into the blanket as he stared at his ceiling thoughtfully, at the shadows cast from the lamp by his bed. "But, does it ever go away? What if I lose it? Can I erase it?"

"Hmm." His father followed his gaze and looked up at the ceiling as well, fingers drumming on his leg. "No, you can't erase it or wash it off. It's always going to be there."

"Even if I scrub really hard?" Yuri wrinkled his nose curiously. "With soap?"

"No, not even a mountain of soap could wash it off," his father said with a rumbling laugh. He reached out and brushed the hair from Yuri's face gently. "Think of it like a sharpie. If you color with sharpie instead of markers, you can't erase it, right?"

Yuri shook his head. "Sharpies smell weird, too."

"You're right." His father laughed again before sighing. "Even if you make a mistake with a sharpie, it's still going to be there. You can't erase it."

"Can I color over it?"

"Not on this one, since you didn't draw it." His father looked down at him before smiling a little and poking his nose. "You worry so much, _myshka_. But that can be a good thing, too."

"So, what if God made a mistake with my mark and I can't fix it?" Yuri still seemed perturbed.

"It doesn't matter," his father replied, resting a hand over Yuri's tiny heartbeat. "What's important is the person he made you. Your mark is just his signature, a permanent marker that sets you apart from everyone else. Everything else is who you really are."

"Like my hair?" Yuri reached up and touched his blonde waves self-consciously. "The kids at school say it makes me look like a girl."

"I like your hair," his father assured him, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. "It's just like your mother's. It's the part of her that you kept, just like you have my eyes. Just like your mark, you can't erase that either."

"It's permanent," Yuri echoed, understanding flickering in his eyes. His father laughed with a nod as he stood up and brushed the hair out of Yuri's face tenderly before switching the light off. The little plastic stars on his ceiling glowed faintly down on him.

"Yes, _myshka_ , it's permanent. Permanent ink, just like God's sharpie." 

He couldn't scrub it off even if he tried. And he had Viktor to thank for constantly reminding him of that.

"I am not my father," Yuri spat back at him, finally gathering the coherency to respond. "I know you have this crazy notion in your head that I'm no better than him, but you're wrong. My father was clinically insane. He was admitted into a mental hospital."

"Even so, he's planted these ideas in your head." Viktor was speaking in Russian again, harsh and curt. "You can evade it as long as you want, but it only proves my point. I didn't think it would be a problem until I saw you in the locker rooms last year, and it's clearly not getting any better."

Yuri was seeing red. That meant Viktor had known since before he'd caught him. No wonder his grandfather and mother had been so willing to let him go- Viktor had probably used that as an excuse. 

"This is your last season as a competitive figure skater, until you get yourself together," Viktor continued. "You aren't mentally prepared for this, and if you keep on you're only going to hurt yourself, as well as the person who has your mark. I can't let this continue under my nose."

Yuri couldn't think past the anger clouding his mind, making everything else seem hazy. All he could hear were the whispers passed in the hallways and locker rooms of the rink, low and hushed: _That's Yuri Plisetsky. I heard his father killed his own soulmate, isn't that sick? Yuri's always been so quiet, he's probably no better. Like father, like son...._

"You don't know anything," Yuri muttered under his breath in English, staring at his hands. "You're just like them, y'know?"

"Yurio...." Yuuri seemed overwhelmed, but was watching Yuri desperately. He glanced up and met his concerned eyes, before turning to Viktor, whose eyes were unyielding. 

"You're wrong," Yuri said, louder this time. "You think I hate my soulmate, that I'm just as bad as my father, but you're wrong."

"I don't believe-"

"I believed my father at first," Yuri continued, ignoring him. "I really believed that my soulmate was just a hindrance, that it was holding me back. But I was wrong."

"How?" Viktor narrowed his eyes. "You haven't even met your soulmate yet."

"You don't know that," Yuri defended. It was the wrong thing to say- Viktor's eyebrows immediately shot up into his hairline. Yuuri fidgeted uncertainly.

"Is that so? Then, do tell me who it is." 

"Yurio, you don't have to." Yuuri interjected with a small frown at Viktor, before glancing back at him. His eyes spoke for him- _don't feel pressured to say anything. You don't have to justify yourself._  

Yuri couldn't bring himself to believe him.

"He does have to." Viktor met Yuri's gaze through the camera. "If their life is in danger, I want to know who it is."

"The _katsudon_ 's life is not in fucking danger! I would never hurt him!" Yuri glared at Viktor through the screen, chest heaving. "Stop insinuating that I'm no better than my father, for God's sake. I'm not a murderer!"

His words were met with silence, and it was only then that he realized his mistake. Viktor seemed to be stunned into silence, and Yuuri was watching him with a combination of sympathy and shock, as if he didn't really understand what had just happened either.

Yeah, neither did Yuuri.

"I'm going to bed," Yuri said abruptly.

"Wait-" Yuuri tried to interrupt him, but he hit the end call button before he even had the chance. Yuri gritted his teeth before slamming his laptop closed and shoving it off the bed, curling on his side and squeezing his eyes shut.

_Don't let it bother you. Don't let it bother you. You have to focus on the Grand Prix. You don't have time to worry about papa._

So he did. He closed off all memories of his father and simply let sleep grab him by his ungrateful legs, dragging him down into a fitful night of rest frequently interrupted.

* * *

It wasn't until the night before the Grand Prix Final that he heard from either Viktor or Yuuri. The latter tried to get in contact with him frequently, a string of missed calls to wake up to every morning and concerned texts begging him to respond. But Viktor was completely silent.

When he arrived to Barcelona, Yuri immediately tried to bolt off to the hotel rooms and get some sleep, but instead he found himself staring out of the massive window at the city below him with a head full of thoughts he couldn't shake off. 

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. Another text from Yuuri:

      _We're heading out to go sightseeing tomorrow. Do you want to come?_

As usual, Yuuri ignored him and simply resumed staring out the window until morning dragged him into consciousness and he dragged himself out to the rink to practice. If he could finish early, then he could avoid those two and go right back to his hotel room, no problem. But fate strongly disagreed with that plan-

"Ahaha, Yuri!"

It was JJ. At this point, Yuri didn't know who he wanted to avoid more- him, or the two lovebirds. Yuri scowled in his direction, but that didn't stop the Canadian figure skater from coming over to torment him anyways.

"My lover and I are going out to dinner to celebrate our engagement," JJ announced as he leaned against the edge of the rink with one arm. "Would you like to-"

"No." Yuri tied up his laces and stood, skating past JJ. " _Dasvidanya._ "

"Oh, that's rude," JJ whined as he followed him, and Yuri scowled under his breath. Did he really have nothing better to do than bother him? They were supposed to be practicing, not socializing, and if they kept it up, Yakov would-

" _Yura, quit socializing and get back to practicing!_ "

" _I'm trying! This fat hag won't leave me alone!_ "

"Wow," JJ breathed, eyes wide at their exchange. "Russian is a scary language."

"I'm going to stick my skate up your ass so far you'll have to undergo surgery to remove it, JJ."

"So mean, Yuri-chan!" 

Yuri started doing loops while JJ trailed after him, even when he started doing toe loops as warm-up. 

"If you come to dinner with us tonight, I'll leave you alone." JJ swiftly dodged as Yuri skated right past him, deliberately trying to knock him over. "Come on! We should celebrate. We made it to the Grand Prix!"

"I'm not in the mood to celebrate-"

Before Yuri could finish his sentence, he heard a familiar chiming laugh that could only mean one thing: Viktor. Gritting his teeth, he spun around to face JJ in an act of complete and total desperation.

"Fine- I'll go with you to your stupid dinner." Yuri honestly wished he could just curl up in his hotel until the short program, but clearly fate thought otherwise. "But only if you don't invite those two."

Yuri jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Viktor and Yuuri and JJ's eyes followed it before widening.

"Viktor and his student? Why-"

"Because I fucking said so," Yuri interrupted, a scowl blossoming on his face. "Is that a deal?"

"Hm." JJ seemed to tap his chin thoughtfully but Yuri knew he was bluffing- he barely knew Yuuri, and Yuri was well aware of his dislike for Viktor after losing to him all the time. JJ was not the best at sportsmanship. "Fine. Deal."

At least now he had an excuse in case one of them cornered him. With that, Yuri skated off to practice on his own, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of being watched that persisted throughout the entire training, burning through his back. His mark did not itch so much this time as it did burn, and he wasn't sure if he was grateful for that or not.

But of course, that left him with JJ, who was absolutely insufferable. JJ was dragging him out of the rink the moment Yakov let him off, and Yuri could only glare at his back the entire way to the dinner while JJ chattered on and on- Yuri felt a little bad for the taxi driver who had to listen to it, too.

"Oh, by the way," JJ said suddenly, his voice changing from its usual light, meaningless chatter. "I invited another friend of mine, Otabek, but he refused. So I'm more or less using you to get him to come."

Yuri sneered. "Excuse me?"

"It sounded like a good plan." JJ shrugged. "I could always invite Yuuri or Viktor to take his place." 

Yuri leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut with disbelief. Nothing with JJ was ever friendly- no matter what happened, Yuri was left wanting to gouge his eyes out. How pleasant. But it was still better than having to face Yuuri and Viktor after the breakdown over videochat. He'd have to talk about it eventually, but... ignoring it was definitely better.

When they arrived at the hotel, JJ listed off this Otabek guy's room number and then went off to get his fiancee, telling Yuri to meet him at the lobby in fifteen minutes. Yuri frowned all the way up the elevator, and then right up to Otabek's door, and he was pretty sure his knock sounded a bit more like the police trying to break down the door, especially with the haste in which it was opened.

"Hey-"

"Yuri?" The man in the doorway seemed slightly disgruntled by his being there, as if Yuri was the last person he expected to see, his eyes widened a little bit. "What- why are you here?"

"Ummm." Yuri squinted, trying to figure out what this stranger's deal was. He seemed slightly familiar, but Yuri couldn't place where or when, so he just brushed it off. He was a figure skater, so the possibilities were absolutely endless. "I'm here because JJ forced me to ask you to go to dinner with him and his fiancee, and me. I have to pay for my own food if you say no, so, it'd be great if you could come."

Otabek blinked at him blankly, as if not quite comprehending what he was watching.

"Wait a moment," Yuri said, hesitating. "You  _are_ Otabek, right?"

"That's me." Otabek nodded, and Yuri sighed in relief, but it didn't make him any less confused. "I'm just surprised to see  _you_ , of all people, asking me. Unless... I guess, if you were with JJ, that makes sense."

"You've lost me," Yuri said, eyebrows pulling together. This Otabek guy was acting weird, but he kind of expected no less out of JJ's supposed  _friends_. "What's so wrong with me asking? Would you rather the pizza guy did?"

"No- it's not that," Otabek assured him, raising his hands. Yuri realized Otabek had just stepped out of the shower, hairline beaded with water that slid down his neck, which was covered by a towel. Had he seriously leaped out of the shower because of his forceful knock?

Now he felt kind of bad.

"I suppose I should formally introduce myself," Otabek amended, holding a hand out, which Yuri took a little uneasily. His grip was firm, but soft. "I'm Otabek Altin, figure skater representing Kazakhstan. I was in your Novice class in St. Petersburg five years ago."

"What?" Yuri dropped his hand, eyes widening in shock. "I don't remember that at all."

"I was actually in my first year as a Junior skater, so I wasn't in there the whole time," Otabek clarified, not surprised by his reaction. "I couldn't keep up with the Russian juniors so I was transferred into the Novice class."

"Woah, I can't believe I don't remember you at all." He barely remembered much from around then- it was around that time that he'd transferred to the St. Petersburg rink after his father died, escaping the rumors that flowed through his school like poison. It was during that time that Yuri had been obsessed with his skating, desperate to overcome his father's bad name. He guessed it wasn't as surprising now that he thought about it. "How long were you in Russia?"

"It was just that year." Otabek leaned against the wall casually, pulling at the edge of the towel. "After that I moved around- the States, and then Canada, which is where I met JJ."

"Unfortunate," Yuri said under his breath, which earned a low laugh. 

"Indeed." Otabek watched him carefully, as if examining him. "I revered you back then. You worked harder than anyone I'd ever met- at that age, most kids are off finding hobbies or still trying to find what they liked, you but you had your mind set on the sport. It was incredible."

Yuri found himself uncomfortable under Otabek's scrutinizing gaze, shifting his weight and avoiding his eyes. Just thinking back to that time made him remember the rumors surrounding his father and the beginnings of his conflict with his soulmate- he didn't even want to think about that right now, especially after his conversation with Viktor. He subconsciously glanced at his watch and realized that he was supposed to be meeting JJ.

"Well, are you in for dinner?" Yuri cleared his throat and glanced up at Otabek. "JJ said to meet him in the lobby. We can talk about... back then, if you want. At the restaurant."

He really didn't want to talk about back then, but he didn't have his wallet, and it was four floors up. He wouldn't have time and JJ would probably ditch him here. Otabek hummed thoughtfully before nodding and reaching back into his room to grab a jacket.

"Sure, I'll go."

* * *

The dinner was actually sort of comfortable. JJ was busy obsessing over how amazing his girlfriend was to leave any room for uncomfortable conversation, and when he wasn't talking, Otabek made small talk about what Albany was like, and in turn Yuri filled in on what he did during his time as a Junior division skater. It was nice. The food was pretty fucking good, too, if Yuri did say so himself.

For a while, things felt normal. Yuri stole food from Otabek and Otabek stole food back, and JJ wasn't overly insufferable- likely because of his fiancee who kept his narcissism in check (and replaced it with a sickening amount of adoration for her. If there was anything JJ loved more than himself, it was Isabella, which was sweet. Disgustingly sweet.) 

"Otabek doesn't usually hang out with other people," JJ said in between puns about the ice, pointing his fork at the man sitting beside Yuri. "But he always talked about you when we trained together in Canada. I figured you could convince him."

"I don't know where you got that idea from," Otabek muttered, ducking his head. Yuri glanced at him, surprised. It was interesting to think that somebody had revered him so much that they talked about him behind his back-  _positively._ It was sort of humbling.

"It's true!" JJ grinned. "He wanted to be just like you. If I didn't know any better I would have thought he was your soulmate."

Both Otabek and Yuri flinched at the same time, before sliding a glance at each other- somehow, having somebody else to share the pain of soulmarks was kind of nice. Yuri found himself relaxing a bit. Yuri made a point of rolling his eyes, and Otabek smirked back at him.

"Oh! It's Yuri! And Otabek and JJ!"

Yuri glanced up at the surprised cry and laid eyes on the two people he did  _not_ want to see today. Viktor and Yuuri were in the doorway of the restaurant, and Phichit was in front of them, waving frantically. Hell, even  _Chris_ had come with them- and those two chicks from Japan who always came to Yuuri's performances, including the one who dubbed him Yurio.

"Oh,  _great_ ," Yuri hissed under his teeth. Otabek gave him a confused glance and JJ, to his merit, seemed apologetic, so Yuri knew he hadn't set this up.

"Yuri, huh?" Chris' drawl was similar to the sound of a snake's hiss, low and slightly threatening. "I'm surprised to see him hanging out with somebody other than Viktor and Yuuri."

Neither of them said anything in response and Yuri just gritted his teeth and looked away, not in the mood to deal with their shit. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the incoming group from pushing their table to Yuri's, and loud chatter quickly erupted over the quietness of before. Even Otabek seemed a little overwhelmed, and Yuri had half a mind to run off. 

Even Yuuri had joined in on the casual chatter, albeit tentatively. He was talking about the banquet last year, so Yuri couldn't help but glance up curiously.

"I couldn't talk to anyone back then," Yuuri was saying with a low laugh. "Not even Viktor."

The look on Viktor's face at that exact moment was absolutely priceless. It was enough to make Yuri just a little less pissed off, but only temporary.

"Are you telling me you don't remember?" Viktor said incredulously. 

Yuri had to forcibly restrain himself from rolling his eyes- of  _course_ Yuuri didn't remember, he'd been drunk off of his ass. Clearly Viktor had been drunk, too, if he didn't realize that drinking  _that much_ had poor effects on the memory. Yuuri seemed confused. "Remember what?"

"You got ridiculously drunk," Chris filled him in, looking incredibly happy to do so as he launched into an overly descriptive runthrough of the events that had happened. They started to pull out their phones and show pictures as well, but Yuri kept his phone in his pocket- it was probably better if they  _didn't_ know he still had pictures of a very drunk Yuuri on his phone. Definitely better.

"Hey, what's with the rings, you two?"

Yuri glanced up, fear immediately shooting down his spine, and Yuuri seemed to be frozen in time and space. 

"Rings?" Minako echoed, frowning. "I don't remember you having a jewelry thing, Yuuri."

"I-It's not-" Yuuri stumbled over an excuse, his face flaming red. Yuri had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and when Phichit's eyes widened, he knew exactly what was going on.

" _Congratulations on your marriage!_ "

Chaos erupted around them as Phichit started clapping enthusiastically. Chris was grinning like he knew some kind of secret, and even JJ looked surprised. And Yuri wanted to curl up in a hole and die. The rings on their fingers were identical, so there was no mistaking it- they were put there deliberately. Viktor seemed to be eyeing his own ring with reverence.

"Don't be mistaken," Viktor said suddenly, displaying his ring for the others to see. "This is an engagement ring. We aren't getting married until Yuuri wins gold at the Grand Prix Finals."

Yuri's stomach fell to his feet. 

 _Wins gold at the Grand Prix Finals._ Yuri had told him that if he won gold himself over Yuuri, he would take him on a date. But this- this meant that if Yuuri beat him and won gold (because he was the only person capable, let's be real), Yuuri would be getting married to Viktor.

Getting married to Viktor.

Suddenly Yuri felt sick.

*******

"I've gotta go," Yuri muttered under his breath. The others paid him no mind, too busy obsessing over Viktor's bold statement to notice as Yuri practically threw himself out of his chair and out of the restaurant, chest heaving. He could feel eyes following him out, his chair rocking from the force of it, but he didn't care. Stumbling to the nearest ally to hide in, Yuri crouched down and ripped his fingers into his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

This wasn't just a game anymore. If he fucked up at the Grand Prix Finals, Yuuri would run off with Viktor, and that was the  _end_. There was no room for him- for anybody like his father, anyone related to him. Yuuri was disgusted with him, for ever trusting him. He had messed everything up.

He couldn't hear anything over the sound of his heart in his chest. It beat a violent sound against his ribs, in his throat, echoing in his ears. His fingers shook against his scalp as he leaned back and pressed his head to the wall, the rough brick helping balance his vision. There was a suffocating tightness in his chest, like he wanted to breathe but couldn't, even though his lungs were working hard and sucking in cold gasps of air.

Was this a panic attack? He tried to remember what Yuuri had been like- shaking, struggling to form words, devoid of logic. What did he look like right now to the random passerby?  _Insane_. He looked insane, probably, clutching his head with trembling fingers and gasping loudly, clouds of air forming in front of his face.

"Yuri?" A familiar voice broke through the haze, and the weight of a hand on his shoulder tethered him, brought him back to earth. "Yuri, calm down. Take deep breaths."

"I am," Yuri rasped out through gasps, his voice scratchy and raw. Why was his mouth so dry? He peeled his eyes open and saw Otabek crouched in front of him, dark gaze unreadable in the shadows. His mouth was set into a firm line.

"Slower," Otabek amended, pressing his other hand over Yuri's heart, which slammed in his chest. "With me. In- now hold it; and out. Slowly."

After a few inhales, the world stopped spinning long enough for his gaze to refocus on the blurry face in front of him, and it didn't feel like there wasn't enough oxygen anymore. His fingers still shook, clenched as he hugged his arms.

"You're doing better." Otabek's voice was low, quiet- it made it a lot easier to focus this way, instead of listening to his own frenzied thoughts, so he focused on that, and the slow rise and fall of Otabek's chest. He could feel his heartbeat through Otabek's palm, steady and calming. "Have you ever been to Medeu before?"

Yuri rolled his eyes up to meet Otabek's, frowning. "What?"

"Medeu, the ice stadium in Albany."

"No." What did that have to do with anything?

"It's gigantic. Like the kind you would find at the Olympics, no joke." Otabek, for once, looked rather animated as he removed his hand from Yuri's chest to gesture wildly. "It's amazing. They have lights, and when it gets late, it's like a glorified, freezing cold rave. Especially with all the drunk teenagers."

Yuri laughed, the sound hoarse and ugly, but it seemed to make Otabek relax a little bit.

"The best part was the mountains," Otabek said, lost in thought. "The view was incredible. During the winter, they're covered in snow, and everything's white."

Yuri closed his eyes, imagining the look of the mountains as Otabek described them. In St. Petersburg, there had only really been cities and buildings everywhere, so he couldn't imagine what it was like to be surrounded by massive, rolling hills. He supposed it would make him feel small, which wasn't a terrible feeling.

*******

"Do you want to talk about it?" Otabek said suddenly, rocking back on his heels. "You might feel better if you get what was upsetting you off of your chest."

Yuri lowered his gaze, staring at a half-rotting cigarette. As much as he didn't want to relive what had put him here, he was sick of bottling it up, and sick of censoring himself. It wouldn't hurt to tell Otabek, and since he was so anti-social he doubted Otabek would say anything about it. Yuri paused before sighing.

"Do you have a soulmate?" 

"That was sudden." Otabek seemed slightly winded, before recovering with a slight shake of his head. "Actually, no. I was born without a soulmark."

Well, that was an interesting as hell piece of information. Yuri really did involve himself with the strangest people- first, somebody who had two soulmarks, and now somebody who had none. Was fate laughing at figure skaters in general? Were they doing something wrong?

"It's pretty common in my family, though," Otabek admitted. "My mother didn't have one, and my father's soulmate was his own sister- they were really close growing up."

The platonic soulmate. What a blow to the chest. Did it only apply to siblings or relatives? What about him?

"My soulmate," Yuri said quietly, "has two soulmarks."

Otabek seemed to not understand him for a moment before his eyes widened. He didn't say anything though, pressing Yuri to continue with his eyes.

"I've never wanted a soulmate," Yuri said, the admittance sounding wrong on his tongue. "Or, I didn't. I always thought it would just drag me down, especially with the way somebody I talk to a lot always fawned over his. It was kind of sickening. Along with that, my parents weren't soulmates, and it never stopped them, so I thought it was a pretty stupid thing to begin with."

"I can see where you'd get that," Otabek hummed.

"Right. But when I was eight, my father ended up killing his soulmate." Yuri paused to let it sink in, both for himself and Otabek. Saying it out loud felt weird. "He was taken to court, and eventually they filed him as clinically insane, and that was that. I haven't seen him since. But that person from before, who was obsessed over his soulmate, knows, and he has this idea in his head- that I'm just like my father, since I wasn't not drooling over my soulmate from the very start."

"That's not fair," Otabek said, raising his eyebrow. "You should have the right to choose."

"That's what I said. But he kept bothering me about it. And then I met my soulmate." Yuri took a deep breath, staring up at the flickering light above him. "He's... wow. I can't believe that somebody like that ended up being my soulmate."

Otabek was silently edging him on, but Yuri was struggling to find the words. Yuuri was- he was everything. Just when Yuri thought he knew everything about him, Yuuri turned around and surprised him yet again. It was exhausting, but intoxicating. He couldn't get enough of being around him.

"But," Yuri continued, sighing, "he also has somebody else's mark. The person I mentioned before, who's sickeningly in love with him. I don't even stand a chance."

"Are you...," Otabek hesitated, frowning, "are you talking about Viktor and Yuuri?"

"Yeah. Guess I'm not as subtle as I thought," Yuri said sheepishly, but Otabek shook his head, disagreeing.

"It's not that. It's just, you ran out of the restaurant earlier, when they pulled out their rings. And Viktor seems like the kind of person...."

"Yeah." Yuri scoffed. "Pretty much. And Yuuri- it's gross. He loves him, he idolizes him, he... you mentioned platonic soulmates before, right? I can feel myself falling into that category."

"Is that what you want?"

"I thought it was," Yuri muttered, dropping his gaze. "But my feelings are all fucked up."

Silence stretched out between them. It felt so much weirder saying it out loud, and it only made him more confused. What was he going to do? Sit there and watch as Viktor stole the only person he truly cared about right under his nose? And was that even what Yuuri wanted, or was he doing this out of pity? Yuri felt his mind getting all scrambled up again as he hung his head in his hands exhaustedly.

"I think," Otabek said finally, chosing his words as carefully as possible, "that if you truly want something, you should go after it. But you should first know what you want."

"What I want," Yuri laughed humorlessly. "I want normalcy. I want to skate, and I want to win gold. I want to take that stupid  _katsudon_ on a date."

"Then do that," Otabek said simply, shrugging. "It's your life, and he's just as much your soulmate as he is Viktor's. Nobody's outright saying that Viktor is his romantic soulmate- he could be just as wrong. Nothing is going to stop you but yourself."

The truth in those words were almost painful, and yet Yuri had been ignoring it this whole time. He'd been so caught up in his self-loathing that he hadn't evaluated what he wanted. It didn't matter what Viktor said, because he was no wiser on it than Yuri himself. If Viktor wanted him to care about his soulmate, he'd gotten it. And he wasn't about to just hand Yuuri over because Viktor was more willing to kiss his feet than Yuri was. 

Otabek stood up and held a hand out to him, his eyes still as dark and unreadable as ever. "I know that the Yuri Plisetsky I saw in the Novice class back in Russia wouldn't sit back and let some punk take what he wanted. He was determined to do something, and he did it, regardless of what it took- so do that."

Yuri stared up at him for a long time before taking his hand, standing up. It was so weird that he'd learned all of this from somebody he'd met in the door of a hotel room not a few hours prior (aside from an encounter five years ago he didn't remember.) But it was a good kind of weird. He found that Otabek was the kind of person he could get used to- a friend, if he dared to say so.

"Thanks," Yuri said, shifting uncomfortably. He wasn't used to thanking people, but it wouldn't be right to just brush him off. "You... really helped me."

"I'm glad." Otabek smiled then, a small once, but one that got his feelings across. His eyes were readable for a moment- honest and clear as glass. Somebody who genuinely wanted to help. "I'll be there if you ever get stuck like that again, so don't hesitate to call me. That's what friends are for."

Yuri paused, scowling. "Friends?"

"You don't know what a friend is?" Otabek's voice was slightly teasing, but the unconvinced look on Yuri's face made him drop the bravado. "I'd like to be your friend, if you're willing. So- are you going to be friends with me or not?"

Yuri stared at him for a long time.  _Friend_ \- he'd never formally used the word to describe somebody. There were people he knew and were annoyed by- Mila, Viktor, Georgi, and maybe even  _katsudon_ , but that was different- but he couldn't really call them friends. Otabek, though... he'd selflessly come out and helped him without Yuri asking him to. Was that was friends did?

"Deal." Yuri held out his hand and Otabek took it in a firm handshake. "I'll be your friend. Don't fuck it up."

Otabek grinned, then, a smile with teeth- nothing like Viktor's fake smiles. It reminded him of Yuuri's smiles, honest and see-through. "I'll try my best."

Before things could get too cheesy, there was a soft patter of footsteps approaching and a familiar voice called out, tentative and peppered with worry-

_"Yurio? Are you out here?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised: **feb. 20 2017** for TYPOS only


	8. Welcome to the Madness

For a minute, looking at the cold-bitten face of the man standing in front of him, Yuri forgot about everything else.

He lost himself in Yuuri's panicked dark eyes, the blush creeping up his cheeks from the cold, the windswept condition of his hair. His hair had grown longer since Rostelecom, curling a little at the nape of his neck almost tauntingly.

Yuri momentarily wondered what it would feel like to bury his nose there and breathe in the smell of his cologne and natural musky scent, to tongue at the skin under his ear until Yuuri was weak in the knees and begging for mercy.

And then Viktor appeared behind him, and the illusion shattered like glass.

Viktor, to his merit, seemed slightly worried, if only due to the state of Yuuri in front of him- breathing hard from running, desperation leaking off of him in waves. Was that because of _him_? 

Guilt played at the back of his mind before his gaze fell on the paired golden bands around their fingers, and then it died out immediately as his stomach dropped to his feet. Suddenly he felt nauseous again, and it was only Otabek's hand resting on his shoulder that managed to quell it.

"Do you...." Otabek didn't finish his question, but he didn't need to- Yuri knew exactly what he meant.

Did he want to run away from his problem or did he want to face it head on? Otabek was willing to give him escape for now, but he'd have to face them eventually. As compelling as it sounded to turn tail and bolt instead of doing the inevitable, he knew it was exactly that- inescapable. It'd come back to find him eventually.

Otabek had said he was strong, that he could fight for whatever he set his eyes on. He guessed he would just have to put faith in that analogy of his eleven-year-old self. 

Yuri shook his head slightly, and Otabek's hand fell from his shoulder. Yuri glanced over his shoulder briefly and saw his new friend taking a step back, headed towards where they'd come. Yuri was relieved- he doubted this would be pretty to watch.

Still, he couldn't fight the feeling of panic that fluttered in his chest as Otabek grew smaller and smaller as he walked away. Yuri felt like he was walking right into a hurricane: alone.

"Yurio," gasped Yuuri from behind him, and the moment he turned around he was suddenly being held tightly, his face pressed into the soft fabric of Yuuri's coat. 

He flinched almost on instinct.

Yuuri noticed this and pulled back quickly, an apology dangling on the tip of his tongue until he saw Yuri's face- streaked with tears, reddened from exhaustion and also paled from the lingering effects of his episode in the alleyway. 

Yuuri was probably seeing his own face after a panic attack reflected back at him, judging by the way his expression fell immediately.

"Is... what happened?" Yuuri seemed to be struggling for the words, as if he couldn't think of an English equivalent for his thoughts. His fingers picked nervously at his sleeves, but jis searching gaze never left Yuri's face, so intense that Yuri had to glance away in fear of breaking.

He met eyes with Viktor, whose expression had shifted from lingering anxiety to the same passive curl of his lip. When their gazes locked, Viktor tilted his head slightly but said nothing. 

Viktor was never quiet.

"It isn't important." Yuri looked back to Yuuri, who was still fearfully watching him. He wanted to say something witty or sarcastic to bite off the remaining panic lodged on his throat, but it felt stuck, forced. "Why are you guys out here?"

"We came looking for you, after you ran out." It was Viktor who replied, his voice smooth ss always. "Everyone was worried."

 _Yuuri was worried._  It made him feel awful, which was exactly Viktor's intention. Yuri drew himself up, eyes narrowing.

"Viktor," Yuuri said suddenly, interrupting the cold glare Yuri sent at the older Russian. His voice was soft, but firm- "I think you should go back to the restaurant. I need to talk to Yurio alone."

Viktor seemed incredibly displeased with that idea, his passive smile fading into a tight-lipped frown as he reached out to Yuuri, "That's not a good idea, I don't want you getting hurt. Either I stay here with you or we both go back."

Yuri immediately felt the press of anger in his chest at Viktor's assumption of him ever daring to lay a harmful finger on Yuuri. It was completely baseless, he'd never hurt Yuuri or anybody else in his life. "Listen-"

"Yurio isn't going to hurt me." Yuuri sounded so sure of himself that even Yuri felt a little taken aback at the straightforwardness of his response. Viktor looked like he'd been clubbed in the face with a baseball bat, the perfect depiction of surprise. 

"But-"

"You promised me." Yuuri's voice changed- it was sharper now, more authoritative, and Viktor immediately straightened. "You promised me you would try, remember?"

Viktor's eyes, which were usually as reflective as glass (and just as hard to see through), were welling with emotion that Yuri didn't understand. There was a long silence where he could hear every pound of his heart before finally Viktor sighed and nodded, fingers skirting almost nervously to the golden ring around his finger.

Without another word, the silver-haired Russian turned to leave, but not without giving Yuri one last glance that was just as unreadable as his expression before. Yuri had to clench his fists to keep from flinching and instead met his eyes with a glare.

Eventually, Viktor's footsteps faded and it left him and Yuuri alone. Yuri found that he was looking everywhere but at Yuuri- glance darting around without really seeing, before finally settling on his shoes, defensive.

"Did you stalk me all the way out here to stare at me, _katsudon_?"

 _To gloat about your new engagement? To invite me to the fucking wedding? To rub it in my face?_  Each uninvited thought only made him feel worse, anger and hurt churning in his gut, a hurricane waged against itself.

He knew that these kinds of thoughts were unfair to Yuuri. But he also couldn't stop seeing the glint of the ring on his finger, leering at him every time he did. 

It felt like Yuuri had taken the blade out of his hands only to shove it in his back himself. 

"Yurio, I..." Yuuri seemed to choke on his words, they strangled themselves in his throat as he desperately tried to find the right ones. "I didn't mean to throw this at you so suddenly. I wanted to tell you personally, but I...."

"Let me guess, you didn't know how?" Yuri raised his eyebrows sardonically, clearly not believing a word that came out of his mouth. "The time didn't feel right? Did you want to light some candles before you s-"

It was Yuri himself who had to bite the words off himself, teeth gritted so hard that his jaw trembled slightly from the force of it. He was _better_ than this- he wasn't going to fall apart just because of some stupid soulmate. He'd spent his life fighting against exactly this.

So why did it mean nothing now?

"Spare me the excuses," Yuri forced out instead, picking his words carefully. He found his anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach like acid begging to be released through his tongue. He wanted to hurt Yuuri, to make him bleed with every syllable. "I'm sick of them."

"Please, just listen, Yurio," Yuuri begged, his eyes hidden in the shadows cast by the lamp behind him. "I wasn't hiding anything from you. I would never-"

"Shut up!" Yuri was already breathing hard, fists clenched him his pockets to keep from clawing at himself, his skin, his head. "I get it. This is all my fault, right? Because I ignored you, I never gave you a _chance_. I should have just sucked it up when Viktor said that about me."

Yuri's words were laced with venom, and he noted with vicious pleasure the way Yuuri flinched at his words, but he didn't back down.

"You're wrong. This has nothing to do with that-"

"Doesn't it?" Yuri sneered, his lip curling. "Now you know the ugly truth about your other soulmate- I'm a murderer, just like my father. It wasn't hard to make a choice after that, huh?"

"I didn't make a choice!" Yuri was yelling, which was new, but it only made Yuri angrier. This was the only way he could drag the truth out of him, he had to claw it out of his fucking throat, and it was exhausting. He was tired of people clenching their teeth around him, afraid to overstep their boundaries. 

"You _did_  make a choice." Yuri's gaze locked on the wedding ring on his finger. 

"I didn't chose Viktor over you," Yuuri pressed on, his voice surprisingly steady. It seemed Viktor's nonchalance was rubbing off on him already. They'd have a great life ignoring each other. "And I don't think you're a murderer."

"Bullshit." Yuri's glare was scathing. "You heard what Viktor said. I'm a ticking time bomb just like my father- I was unhappy with my soulmark just like he was, I have anger issues, I tried to cut my fucking soulmark off right in front of you. Are you blind?"

"You aren't your father." The words sounded so foreign to Yuri that his breath caught in his throat slightly, but Yuuri didn't relent. "You're so much different. I've said it a hundred times- you're strong, you're independent, and you aren't going to kill me just because you don't want a soulmate. You're not 'my soulmate', you're not 'your father's son', you're Yuri Plisetsky."

"That's really rich, coming from the one who's tied himself off to Viktor Nikiforov." Yuri narrowed his eyes, trying to keep his voice even. "How would he feel if he heard you say that? Because I'm certain he's convinced the exact opposite."

"Viktor is different. But he knows how I feel." Yuuri finally looked away, staring at the shadows behind Yuri unseeingly. "Viktor has his own reasons for the way he feels."

"I'm sure they're totally justified, too." Sarcasm dripped from Yuri's tone. 

"Yurio, please." It was only the desperation in Yuuri's tone that kept him from snapping at him to not call him that name, by a thin thread. "Just give him a chance, talk to him. At least let him try to explain his side of things."

"I-" Yuri cut himself off, words stalling on his tongue. _I have._  Had he, though? Had he ever stopped and listened to Viktor? Yuri bit his tongue, scowling. "Why should I?"

"Viktor cares about you, Yurio." Yuuri's voice goes soft, his eyebrows furrowing. "I know what he said a few nights ago was inexcusable, and he regrets it more than you know. He just wants you to talk to him."

"He wants to talk _at_ me," Yuri corrected, bitterness seeping into his tone. "That's what Viktor does."

"I know. Trust me, I know. Viktor isn't the best at handling other people's emotions, but his intentions are pure." Yuuri seemed to be speaking from experience, which made him wary. "Sometimes you just have to meet him halfway."

Yuri bit his cheek, chewing it at thoughtfully. Viktor had bugged him about his soulmark for almost a year and he'd never responded, and while the man was airheaded he had honest intentions. Sometimes he said and did stupid things he didn't mean, he toed too many lines he didn't think he could break, but Yuuri was right. Viktor had probably thought saying something like that would help open him up, and hadn't even paused to consider the consequences even when Yuuri was right there.

"Viktor's a moron," Yuri muttered, earning a somewhat relieved small from Yuuri. Yuri didn't meet his eyes, staring off at the restaurant behind him, and he spotted a familiar silhouette reclined outside in his too-big jacket, watching.

Yuri sighed and glanced back at Yuuri, who eyed him expectantly.

"Fine!" Yuri threw his hands into the air, exasperated. "I'll talk to him. But not until after the Grand Prix Finals. I want to have a clear head so that I can win gold."

Yuuri grinned, his wide smile infectious as he stepped forward and dragged Yuri into a warm embrace that he only fought weakly against. "Thank you, Yurio!"

"I'm not doing it for you," Yuri lied through his teeth, letting himself sink into the warmth Yuuri provided against the cold December air. Yuuri just laughed and hugged him tighter before releasing him, which wasn't totally relieving. 

"We should probably go back to the dinner," Yuuri said after a beat of comfortable silence. "Poor Phichit freaked out when you bolted, he probably thinks it was his fault."

Yuri rolled his eyes but headed towards Viktor and the restaurant obediently, Yuuri falling in step beside him. Yuuri's statement reminded him of his initial shock and he paused, chewing on his lip. "So... are you two really engaged?"

Yuuri seemed to freeze, as if the words were a physical blow, and Yuri immediately grew suspicious. Had Yuuri already made a choice between the two of them? Was he not mature enough, not talented enough, and Yuuri was trying to break it to him easy?

"No," Yuuri said finally, the words almost like a sigh. "We aren't engaged. They're something like promise rings- but my wallet kind of disagrees." Yuuri laughed humorlessly. 

"Promise rings?" Yuri echoed. "Like the thing high schoolers use...?"

"You're a high schooler, too, you know." Yuuri lifted a brow. "But kind of, yes. It's actually more like a contract: we both promised something to one another and these rings were a reminder."

"What promises?"

"Well, wouldn't you like to know?" Yuuri's grin was sly and mischievous, but he offered no other words on the subject so Yuri figured it wasn't important. As long as Yuuri hadn't immediately sworn himself to Viktor, as long as he still had a chance....

The relief he felt seemed to lift all of the pain from his chest and he felt like he could finally breathe again. He'd have to thank Otabek a hundred times over for putting him in a better state of mind or he would have never known the truth- but now wasn't the time for that, and Yuri wasn't feeling overly mushy. Instead he just elbowed Yuuri in the side and stomped ahead of him, muttering something about being bad at secrets under his breath.

"Wait," Yuuri said suddenly, his voice changing and prompting Yuri to obey, even though he would have anyways. "I just... I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. And thank you, you know, for agreeing to talk to Viktor. It means a lot to me, and him too. I know you guys were pretty close before he came to Japan."

Yuri hesitated, his snarky remark lingering on the tip of his tongue. Yuuri was right... as usual. It was when Viktor had suddenly turned his back on him that he grew angry, even after closing Viktor off all that time. Yuuri probably felt responsible, but he wasn't at fault. He could spend all day trying to pin blame, but it was really just between Viktor and Yuri: Yuuri had just gotten tied up in their mess.

Without thinking, Yuri reached up and pressed his lips to Yuuri's cheek, just under his right eye. Yuuri didn't flinch but immediately blushed red with embarrassment and surprise, and it remained even when Yuri pulled back and swiftly looked anywhere other than at him.

"Stop fucking apologizing already, _katsudon_ ," Yuri said, his voice softer than he intended. He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Your voice is getting annoying."

Yuuri stayed frozen for a few second before relaxing into a breathtaking smile, his eyes crinkling with relief at the corners. Yuri suddenly grew very interested in the ground, afraid that if he looked at Yuuri he'd say something stupid again.

"So dishonest," Yuuri singsonged instead of replying, turning on his heel and continuing back to the dinner. Yuri stared after him, blinking repeatedly. "Some things never change, Yurio!"

Yuri paused, chewing on his lower lip, before letting a small smile curl at his lips. It felt weird and displaced, and his chest felt too light as if he was floating, but it wasn't a wholly bad sensation. He brought a finger to his lips, the lingering feeling of Yuuri's skin making his smile widen just a little bit. 

Yuuri Katsuki, as much as he hated to admit it, was an amazing force of nature.

Shaking his head, he wiped the stupid smile from his face and sauntered after him, making a point of kicking rocks into Yuuri's shoes as he retorted: "Don't call me that, _katsudon!_ "

* * *

Yuri skated his short program the next day as if he had something to prove to the entire audience, when in reality there were only two people who he wanted to get his program across to.

Yuuri was the first, but that was almost a given. He wanted to prove to Yuuri that while he was dishonest and compulsive, he was also capable of not only feeling  _agape_ but performing it in front of thousands of people as well. He wanted to prove that while he might have tried to cut off his soulmark before, he was ready to accept it now, that he had matured at least a little bit.

And then there was Viktor.

Yuri had struggled with how he viewed Viktor for a long time. At first it had all felt pointless, what with the man constantly harassing him about his soulmark and masochistically accepting every slammed door and screamed insult. He had thought Viktor was a total idiot, but now he could see the way Viktor always watched him quietly, waited for him to open up. 

Even if it hadn't worked, since he had been so God damned stubborn.

Viktor had left to Hasetsu, sure, but not without telling Yuri first. And Yuri hadn't completely ignored the stocked fridge and pantry, the cleaned house, the money left on the table. Even when Viktor had gone to pursue what he wanted after waiting for so long he hadn't left Yuri completely on his own, because Yakov had moved in with him without being asked (at least, not by Yuri). Viktor, in his own weird and inordinately  _Viktor_ way, had cared about him, and he'd just repeatedly slammed the door on his strange affections.

If it hadn't been for Yuuri, he wouldn't have noticed. At least, not as quickly, and likely not before things spiraled out of control and Viktor's seemingly endless patience wore thing. Yuuri had shown him the side of Viktor that only he seemed to understand, the one that  _felt_ and wasn't just some unreachable position of power who didn't take anything seriously.

Yuri was beginning to think he might have considered Viktor as something more than human at some points, like a robot who wasn't affected by real emotions. But if anything, recent events had shown him that Viktor was just as flawed as he and Yuuri were. He was selfish, he was impulsive, and he was terrible with handling his own emotions and other people's emotions. If he didn't understand something he got frustrated and tried to fix it himself, even when he had no place to, because that was how he  _expected_ it to work.

_Idiot._

Yuri landed his quad Salchow and triple toe loop with one arm raised, automatically finding Viktor's gaze. The man stood alone in the stands by the stairs, and while Yuri couldn't see his expression from the distance he could already imagine it as the one he'd seen yesterday.

_"Viktor Nikiforov is dead."_

Believing that he could actually put off his conversation with Viktor was downright idiotic and naive, but even more so was the fact that Yuri had ended up tracking him down himself to talk to Viktor. If only because he knew that if he didn't, he'd be too distracted during the GPF to stay focused. He at least needed to get some things off of his chest, and with Viktor sitting there just  _waiting_ for it, how could he not?

The quad toe loop jarred his entire body with the impact, but he managed it with both arms in the air almost as if defying gravity itself, and a self-satisfied feeling welled in his chest in spite of his exhaustion. If only Viktor knew what kinds of things Yuri could do- but he certainly would now. Viktor had a bad habit of underestimating people, him and Yuuri included, and overestimating himself. 

Yuri was going to prove him wrong.

 _"Why do you look so happy to be looking after that_ katsudon _?"_

God, if Viktor could only see his face at that moment, wiped clean with surprise- clearly it hadn't been the statement he'd been expecting, if his slack jaw was any indication. Yuri reveled in it even now as he swept across the ice, the sound of his skates grating against it music to his sore ears. Viktor had recovered pretty quickly, to his merit, turning to face him and bending down until their faces were only inches apart, his breath cold from breathing the freezing Barcelona air too long as it fanned over Yuri's face.

_"Do you see me as competition?"_

Yuri scoffed inwardly at the notion, steps quickening as he got into the harder part of his step sequence. Every muscle in his legs burned delightfully, the sensation much nicer than the burn he felt on his mark whenever he grew angry with it. Viktor as competition? The thought made him want to laugh-

_"Don't be so full of yourself. Not all skaters look up to you."_

Viktor gave a knowing curl of his lip, then, because he saw right through Yuri's facade. Unsurprisingly, because Viktor had grown way too used to Yuri's displays of false bravado. Viktor had known exactly what he was saying, then- he  _did_ see him as competition, but not as a skater. As Yuuri's soulmate. Yuri wasn't going to let himself be outdone by a thoughtless narcissist like Viktor, especially in a case like this.

And to Viktor, that was saying something. Before this, Yuri had never taken his mark seriously or as anything more than a nuisance. And yet now he was willing to go so far as to defend it against Viktor's own, with full confidence that he would win.

_"Just leave already."_

Those were the words that seemed to spark a nerve in Viktor, because he didn't hesitate to reach out and grab Yuri by the chin, his fingers shaking ever so slightly. And that movement, in and of itself, was the only response that Yuri needed.

Because it meant that Viktor was dead serious in his affections for Yuuri. He wasn't just playing a game, he wasn't toying with Yuuri's emotions, and he didn't just see him as a lover because he was his soulmate. He was a person to Viktor, and a person he cared about enough to fight back against Yuri even after Yuri had come to accept himself as Viktor had been begging him to for a year.

He was willing to throw away everything for Yuuri. Which meant he was a serious threat.

_"That ring you got from him is garbage."_

It wasn't an insult to the ring itself, it was a promise- that ring, for all it signified, meant  _nothing_ to Yuri. It made no difference in how Yuri was going to fight for Yuuri. Viktor may have proven that he meant what he said about loving Yuuri, but that didn't meant Yuri was just going to sit back and watch them fawn over each other. His pride- and his growing feelings for Yuuri- were in the way of that.

_"I'll win just to prove just how incompetent its owner is."_

Viktor had smirked at him then, a knowing smirk.  _Challenge accepted._ It was all Yuri needed to see, and evidently it was all Viktor needed to see, because he let go of Yuri's chin willingly. His blue eyes were glassy and cold, but Yuri could see the challenge there as clear as day- he knew exactly what was going on and he was welcoming it with open arms.  _Come at me._

Yuri would never admit it out loud but the simple acceptance had meant more than Viktor could ever know. For once in life, Viktor was taking him seriously instead of treating him like a child. He was rising up to Yuri's taunts because he no longer saw them as harmless. 

As Yuri spiraled into his sit spin and the world became little more than a whirl of light, he remembered his final words to Viktor-  _this place reminds me of Hasetsu's ocean._ It seemed that they always spoke in some kind of broken code, and Viktor understood immediately, if the lift of his lip was any sort of indication. It was an extension of peace, a shaking of hands. Hasetsu was a momentary truce, the eye of their proverbial storm, and until the end of the Grand Prix Final there would be no discussion on the topic, specifically not in front of Yuuri.

 _Watch me, Viktor_ , Yuri thought triumphantly as his skates cut into the ice with a final spin and he raised his arms to the heavens, the music rolling to a closure. The light caught off of his costume and temporarily blinded him, but he didn't dare close his eyes, letting the feeling of pride rush through his veins like elixir. He could feel Viktor's eyes on him, watching in total silence.  _I'm not going to sit back and watch you steal that stupid_ katsudon _away._

And somehow, he was certain that Viktor knew exactly that. Especially when the scores went up and the record-shattering 118.56 glared back at him from the scoreboard. He could almost physically  _feel_ the victorious breath of air pumped into his lungs, and he breathed it willingly as Yakov started cursing excitedly in Russian beside of him and Lilia smiled for the first time in what must have been eight thousand years.

_He's shattered the world record set by Viktor Nikiforov!_

The free skate, however, was an entirely different scenario. Yuri had been convinced that he had this performance in his pocket, that he could shatter Viktor's world record again with all of the technical matters in his free skate. That was, until-

"You're coming  _back_?"

Yuri had never heard Yakov speak so loudly in his life, and Yakov was a  _loud_ person. And yet Viktor took it without so much as flinching, undoubtedly used to it, and nodded once.

"For now, I'll time my return for the Russian Nationals," Viktor explained, but Yuri didn't hear a word that came out of his mouth aside from that he was returning to competitive figure skating. It took about three seconds for him to process that his skating left Yuuri without a coach, and he reached out to Viktor almost desperately, cutting him off by grabbing his sleeve and clutching it tightly.

"Does that mean  _katsudon_ is retiring?" Yuri tried to mask the fear in his voice but it didn't work at all, judging by the shadow that passed over Viktor's face. However, when it remained there, Yuri only grew more anxious. Viktor seemed to hesitate before responding, his eyes askance.

"That's his decision," Viktor said slowly. "He said he'd decide after the Grand Prix Final was over."

What the  _fuck?_  Yuri's grip tightened on Viktor's jacket, an unspoken threat hanging in the air. What the hell had happened between them? Viktor never acted this closed off unless it was serious (and it never was), and his mouth was set in a thin line that meant he was pissed. Pissed at  _Yuuri_? It didn't make any sense, and Yuri found himself floundering for an explanation.

A smile curved at the corner of Viktor's lips, then, one that screamed trouble, and before Yuri could decipher what the fuck was going on Viktor grabbed him into a tight hug that almost crushed his lungs. 

It wasn't friendly, and it sure as hell wasn't the kind of hugs he gave Yuuri (thank God), but it was desperate. Viktor's arms were unyielding, caging Yuri in like a trapped animal, and he was too frozen with shock to push him away. An unspoken plea was written in between the lines of the hug, but Yuri was still struggling to understand.

Viktor pulled him closer, his face dropping into the junction of Yuri's shoulder and neck, and it was then that he felt the wetness of tears against his skin and the way Viktor's arms trembled around him. He thought of all the times Viktor had hugged Yuuri, had tried to push all of his unspoken feelings through one simple action, and suddenly Yuri understood.

 _Bring him back_ , Viktor was saying.  _I can't help him, but you can. Please help me._

It was the second time Viktor had thrown away his pride and asked for help, and both times had been about Yuuri. Viktor  _knew_ he couldn't say no. He knew that their interests were symmetric, but he also knew that Yuri was just as capable of saying no just to spite him. In a way, it was an apology, and a reminder of their treaty. Viktor took in a ragged breath, his breath fluttering across Yuri's skin and down the sensitive area on his back that still ached from time to time as a reminder of his mark and the abuse he'd put on it.

It was the least he could do after rejecting it for so long, wasn't it?

_Don't forget what it is you want._

_Nobody is going to stop you but yourself._

When Yuri finally stepped out onto the ice, he knew exactly what he wanted. He was no longer going to try and erase a part of himself that had been there forever. He was going to face his problems head on and go for exactly what he wanted. As he rolled into the starting position, he could feel the eyes of thousands upon him and he relished it, shutting his eyes and blocking out the sounds of cheers.

_Watch me. Don't you dare take your eyes off of me, Yuuri Katsuki._

When he had first seen Yuuri skate, he had been completely unable to take his eyes off of him. Yuuri was completely unlike any skater he had ever seen before- horribly messy, chaotic, and disorganized. Despite all of that, he seemed to pull it off with an almost surreal effect to it. It was like watching the world burn around you, it was fascinatingly beautiful and yet terrifying at the same time. He could see in all of Yuuri's moves just how much talent he had, and how much was slipping between his fingers because of his weaknesses. 

He could see a Yuuri who was able to cast those weaknesses aside and perform brilliantly, too. And that was the part of him that scared Yuri the most.

He landed the quad Salchow and triple Axel without so much as flinching. By now, hitting the ice was expected, and he welcomed the impact. His body was at the stage where, when he landed, the impacts of the land did not shake his bones. He was lightweight and therefor gravity was on his side, so he was able to do things like raise arms with very little difficulty at all. But he'd known ever since he'd made his senior debut that he only had a short window of time until that changed- the growing pains and aches in his body at night were only proof of that.

He was going to take advantage of this smaller, lithe body while he still could. And then he would find a new way to work with the body he received once the growing stopped.

As soon as Yuri had seen Yuuri on the ice he had ached to see him perform without a flaw at all, to see a program that was executed to its full potential. He knew there had been something beautiful and unbreakable inside of Yuuri, burrowed under layers upon layers of timidness and fear, and he longed to rip it out himself. But he'd also known that Yuuri would never get there on his own. 

What did he want? He wanted Yuuri- he wanted to be the one at Yuuri's side, the wings that held him up when his legs wouldn't, that would shield him from his insecurities and offered warmth when there was none. Yuri was sick of hiding from his soulmark, and he would prove to Yuuri through this that he could do that.

But he wouldn't be able to help Yuuri improve if the idiot retired. It was too soon for Yuuri to retire, not when he had so much room to grow. Viktor still clung viciously to competing even  _now_ , when he was edging on his thirties, so why would somebody as young and full of untapped potential like him just give up? It was infuriating, and it only made Yuri want to drag him right back into the rink and skate some sense into him.

Yuuri had crushed Viktor's world record in the free skate just minutes before him. If he honestly thought he could walk away contentedly after that, then he had another thing coming for him. Normally Yuri would just walk away, but now he was too invested- he'd glue Yuuri's ass to the ice if he had to. He'd be damned if he was going to let Yuuri throw away all of his love for the sport just because he thought he wasn't enough, or something stupid like that.

And if Viktor had anything to do with his stupid idea to retire, which he probably did, Yuri was going to kick his ass so hard he'd be seeing Jesus for a solid thirty seconds. No exaggeration. 

 _No fucking way am I letting him get that gold and run away with Viktor_ , Yuri thought bitterly as he threw himself into a triple flip, landing it hard. As he did, he felt a pain race up his ankle, and he gritted his teeth at it. His growing pains were choosing the absolute worst time to show up, especially at a time like this. The second half was approaching and he was exhausted, but he refused to give in. He refused to let Yuuri retire.

He launched into the quad toe loop, and he immediately realized his fault. The world bent underneath of him as he caught himself on the outside of his blade, and his hands hit the ice with a hard crack that he knew would sting like a bitch later. But the pain was enough to ground him again, and he pushed on relentlessly.  _Focus. Focus. Breathe._

Lilia had always nailed into his head to be a ballerina, to be the picture of grace, but he'd grown sick of that fairly quickly. Yuri was not an elegant danseur, or a doll. He was the ever-evolving creature that would strip Yuuri of the gold medal he wanted so badly, to motivate him to do one more season. He'd tear himself apart over and over again just to prove to Yuuri that he was worth more than that, and he proved it by working twice as hard, landing his quad Salchow and triple toe loop without hesitation, both arms raised above his head. The pain was grueling.

And it was worth it. His next two toe loops were given just as defiantly, daring Yuuri to question his position as a figure skater-

_Don't you dare retire, pig. I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life if you do._

Triple axel. Single loop. Triple Salchow. Each one hurt more than the next. He felt bloody and raw, as if he had reassembled his body thrice times over until he was completely broken and disjointed, his bones turned to powder and muscles shredded. A fire licked at his calves that he knew would hurt like a bitch later, but for now it was overcome with pure adrenaline that raced through his veins with every breath.

Each step into the final position seemed to sap up all of his remaining energy, exhaustion pulling at his very consciousness as blackness cornered his vision. He felt like he was on the verge of passing out, but he forced air through his lungs as the music came to a halt and silence swallowed the entire arena, shock rippling through the audience.

Wait, no. It wasn't silent. There were cheers around him, and they were so loud that it was deafening. 

All of the strength left his body in a final gasp and he felt to his knees, the ice hard and cold against the thin fabric of his costumes. Yuri was familiar with the feeling of the ice, though, and ignored the snow building up on his costume as he buried his face into his hands and tried to recollect the scattered pieces of his sanity. He felt a hot warmth in his palms and realized in shock that he was crying- how fucking lame.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it. He could tell that his words had reached Yuuri, wherever the hell he was. 

_Stay._

He'd beaten Yuuri's score by .12 points. That was barely the equivalent of an under-rotated single toe loop- essentially,  _nothing at all_. 

There was something about standing on the podium above Yuuri's by just over .1 point that sent vicious satisfaction through Yuri. Especially in his senior debut year, the fact that he was on the podium with long-time skaters like Yuuri and (shudder) JJ was incredible, and for a moment he let himself bask in the glory. When he glanced down at the bronze-medal-bearing Canadian, he let a poisonous smirk slide onto his lips that didn't go unseen, and JJ responded with a lift of his eyebrows before suddenly parting his lips and oh  _God no_ -

"It's JJ style!"

The crowd went mad, and Yuri immediately whipped his head to the side, clicking his tongue in disgust. Leave it to JJ to be a narcissist to the very end, even when Yuri had  _finally_ crushed him. Even so, it had mostly been circumstances that put him here. If JJ hadn't collapsed during his short program he might have been in Yuuri's place. Still.

With his head turned, Yuri found himself locking gaze with Yuuri, who had a slight smile on his face that immediately melted away his anger- that was, until he realized it, and then he just got angrier at himself. 

"Congratulations, Yurio," Yuuri said, his voice soft. "You deserve that gold medal."  _More than I do._

Yuri gritted his teeth at the unspoken addition that lingered between them, Yuuri's anxiety rising to the surface as the reality of his silver medal caught up to him. Determined to stomp that particular blaze out as quickly as possible, Yuri reached down and flicked Yuuri right on the forehead, smirking at the surprised noise he made in offense.

"You sure as shit didn't make it easy,  _katsudon_ ," Yuri said, commending Yuuri's skills in his own Yuri way. "Don't think that just because I won gold here, I'm going to go easy on you at our next competition. I'm gonna kick your ass even harder there, so don't even bother slacking off."

In other words: don't you dare retire now, idiot.

Yuuri paused, his lips parted in surprise, before his eyes softened, and for a moment Yuri thought he was going to start crying. Instead, Yuuri just nodded and raised his fist up to Yuri, the golden wedding band glinting at him as if challenging him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Stifling his relief, Yuri lifted his fist to Yuuri's and bumped it gently, ignoring the way the ring seemed to sear his skin on contact. Soon enough he'd have his own fucking ring on Yuuri's finger, promise ring or not, just to rub it in Viktor's face.

"Then, I'm looking forward to our next competition. Oh, and see you at the banquet," Yuri added as an afterthought as the announcements came to a close, finding amusement in the mortified look that crossed Yuuri's face. "Try to lay off the champagne this time, yeah?"

Yuuri stared at him for a moment before shaking his head in defeat. 

"Somehow, I doubt that'll happen after all that's happened. It sounds more tempting by the minute."

* * *

True to his word, Yuuri was stone-cold drunk by the time the banquet eased to an uncomfortable close. Fortunately, most of his clothes remained intact, but he'd spent the night pawing at Yuri's, which left him looking like  _he_ was the drunk one.

Chris had tried to bring out a stripper pole again, but Viktor had managed to keep him under control- which left the Russian man's eyes off of Yuuri. That was when Yuuri had sneaked off to get drunk, even though he still seemed to be humiliated from last year's tales, and by the time Yuri had arrived (fashionably late of course) he was essentially hammered. 

"Yurioooo," crowed the drunken Yuuri as he draped himself over Yuri's shoulders, skin hot against his. Yuri tried to ignore the racing of his heart in favor of supporting the weight on him as he tried to lead Yuuri to their hotel room. "You're so... soft... like a pillow. Can I buy you? You'll look great next to my blankets... you match...."

"And how's that," Yuri said tonelessly, scrolling through his phone. Fortunately, Viktor texted him then, which removed any notion of excitement he was having because, well, Viktor just had that effect on him. 

_Can you take Yuuri back to your room until I get there? Chris is setting up the pole in ours, and reasoning with a drunk Swiss is like... too drunk for this just do it pls thanks_

Yuri snorted and adjusted Yuuri's weight. He was pretty much piggyback riding him (pun moderately intended) but without all the fun and his legs dragging uselessly on the ground. He was like a sack of fucking potatoes. But he was lighter than Yuri had originally thought, so at least he had that.

"They're... blue... ocean... colored! Ahh, I love the ocean, Yurio. You smell like the ocean." Yuuri buried his nose in Yuri's neck shamelessly, breathing in deeply before exhaling through parted lips. His feverish breath seared against Yuri's skin and he once again had to physically restrain himself from having a stroke right there, even when Yuuri's lips moved against his skin as he whispered tiredly, "I think I'm drunk."

"I agree," Yuri said, a humorless laugh escaping his chest as he got to the elevator and climbed in with minimal difficulty, save for Yuuri nearly falling face first on the ground when his shoe caught the edge. Yuri heaved him in and pressed the hotel number.

The ground lurched and Yuuri clung to him like a koala, arms tight around Yuri's midsection as he buried his face in Yuri's shoulder. "Wow! Elevators are so much fun!"

Fuck, why was the drunk Yuuri so cute? It was make his heart do weird things, especially with the constant flipping between sexy Yuuri and cutesy Yuuri. He liked them both, but Jesus Christ, he couldn't handle them at the same time in such rapid succession. 

"I remember," Yuuri paused to hiccup before nuzzling closer to him, "the last time we were on an elevator. You were, um... like this-"

Drunk Yuuri was also incredibly strong, or maybe he just didn't hold back his strength as much as sober Yuuri, because he had Yuri pressed against the back railing of the elevator in a half of a second as if it was no problem at all, his arms caging Yuri in as he leaned in so close that Yuri could smell the champagne on his breath.

"And-" Yuuri breathed out, his voice dropping to a softer and sweeter tone, "also this..."

Yuuri dropped his head and pressed feather light kisses against Yuri's jaw and neck, his heated breath making goosebumps crawl along Yuri's skin. He could no longer breathe, or even think straight, because  _Jesus_ Yuuri was close to him, and he smelled really good under all the sugary champagne smell- he must have used some kind of cologne on his neck, and it was more intoxicating than he wanted to admit.

 _I'm going to die_ , Yuri thought desperately as Yuuri kissed closer and closer to the corner of his mouth, sloppy and wet but also fucking amazing at the same time.  _I'm going to die in an elevator and I'm not even mad about it. God, I'm so whipped._

"This," Yuri said under his breath as Yuuri nosed along the corner of his jaw and neared his lips, "this is a bad idea. Viktor is going to kill me."

Who the fuck cared about Viktor? Except they were supposed to be operating on a peace treaty. Still, Viktor  _had_ left this beautiful, smashed Yuuri in his hands, and he knew exactly what Yuuri was like when he was drunk. Was it a motion of trust or a test? Either way, Yuuri was getting closer and closer to his lips and shivers were racing up his spine just at the  _thought_ of kissing those beautiful, soft lips one more time-

Just as Yuuri's hot breath stirred against his mouth, Yuri pressed a hand to Yuuri's chest and pushed him back. Yuuri was caught off-guard enough that he didn't fight back, and Yuri lifted a finger to point at the door in explanation. "We're here."

The door dinged and opened, and Yuuri blinked at it as if it had personally attacked him before nearly collapsing where he stood. Yuri caught him by the waist before he could and helped him all the way to his room, unlocking the door as quickly as possible as his legs threatened to give out.

"I don't know how the hell Viktor lifted your heavy ass in that stupid exhibition," Yuri muttered under his breath, kicking the door closed behind them and leading Yuuri to his own bed. "You weigh more than the average elephant."

Of course he was lying, Yuuri was light compared to what he expected, and he  _was_ pretty comfortable so he had no justification for his complains except to save face. Still, Yuuri continued to mumble incoherently into his jacket until Yuri laid him down onto the bed, where he thrashed around fitfully and reached out in the pitch darkness, his fingers finally fumbling into Yuri's jacket and gripping it tightly.

"Don't go, Yurio-" Yuuri started quietly, before he hesitated and a goofy smile burst onto his face, that lopsided a little. "Don't you know... you can't go... oh, no... please no... I'm so... tired...."

Yuri couldn't help but snort at Yuuri's improv singing and shrugged off his tuxedo coat, tossing it at Yuuri, who immediately snuggled into it. Figured he was too drunk to realize it wasn't an actual person. Yuuri muttered sweet nothings into the coat as Yuri went out to get a glass of water and respond to Viktor's text, letting him know that Yuuri was safely hidden in his bed- which he emphasized purposefully, just to get on Viktor's nerves. He added a hasty  _don't be loud when you come in_ for Yuuri's sake before returning to his room.

Yuuri was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling in shock. As Yuri came in, he turned to him with wide eyes. "Yurio. I think... I think there's an earthquake."

Yuri sighed as he put the glass of water on the nightstand and knelt beside Yuuri, helping him sit up and keep him steady. "And I think you're a little to drunk to make that deduction. Drink," he ordered, taking the glass once Yuuri was situated and pressing it to his lips. Yuuri obeyed almost reverently, and before Yuri knew it he'd downed the entire glass.

Damn.

Yuri stood to get more, but a warm hand curled around his wrist held him in place. Yuuri gazed up at him with hopeful dark eyes, lashes fluttering against his smooth cheeks. "Don't go," he begged again, voice faltering. There was something in his eyes that rooted Yuri were he stood, something that broke through the haze of alcohol surrounding them, and he hesitated before sighing and wrapping his arms around Yuuri's torso, lifting him back onto the bed and letting him burrow into the sheets with a happy whimper. When he looked back at Yuri, his eyes shone too brightly. 

"Aren't you gonna sleep, Yurio? We have our short program tomorrow."

"Our-" Yuri cut himself off before sighing in disbelief, shaking his head. The short program? Yuuri was even more drunk than he'd originally thought, then. He shook his head before crawling into bed beside Yuuri, who immediately curled up against him and wrapped around him tightly, entangling their legs in a rather intimate pose. 

"I'm so worried," Yuuri babbled into his shirt, his voice soft and slurred and sleepy. It was nice to listen to. "I wanna do my best at the Grand Prix. Viktor worked so hard to coach me... I miss Viktor. Where's Viktor?"

"Dead," Yuri deadpanned ruthlessly, relishing the way Yuuri's eyes widened a bit. 

"Woah." Yuuri stared at him, clearly not understanding a word he meant, before hiding his face again and mumbling on about how his short program was so sexy and how much he loved pork cutlet bowls. Somewhere in the middle of his chatter he fell asleep, soft snores falling from his lips, and Yuri laid there with him for a while. He couldn't resist gently skimming his fingers over Yuuri's tousled hair, the soft strands slipping through his fingers easily. His touch reached the back of Yuuri's neck, and he moaned happily in response, scooting closer into Yuri's space. 

Okay. Mission abort. Yuri quickly but gently entangled himself from Yuuri's body and instead replaced himself with his coat before slinking off to the kitchen to splash his face with cold water. Dealing with drunk Yuuri was a million times more difficult than dealing with sober Yuuri, even if he was cuter. Yuri sighed into his hands as he rubbed his face before drying it off and collapsing in the sofa, leaning his head back against the wall tiredly.

Not two seconds later, Viktor knocked on the door loudly, making him jump. Yuri heard a quiet demand to "shut up Makka" from the other room before Yuuri fell silent again, and he silently thanked God before opening the door and scowling at Viktor. 

"You almost woke him up," Yuri snapped.

"He's asleep?" Viktor seemed genuinely surprised, inviting himself into Yuri's hotel room and immediately heading to the bedroom where he saw Yuuri curled around his pillows like they were an actual human, giggling softly in his sleep. While the display itself was amusing, seeing Viktor's eyes melt with some unknown emotion was both uncomfortable and pissing him off, so Yuri shut the door in his face and stalked back to the sofa, collapsing on it immediately. Viktor sat down on the other side, kicking his legs up in the middle, and Yuri immediately retaliated by placing his legs in the front.

Viktor, not seeming to fond of that idea, nudged Yuri's legs to the back of the couch and let his own occupy the front half. Thus ensued a violent (and rather strange) battle for dominance of leg position until finally Yuri groaned and dropped his legs right on top of Viktor's, angling so that they formed a really stretched out 'x'. Viktor seemed content enough with that, smirking at Yuri.

"Just like old time," Viktor said, phrasing it almost like a question as he tilted his head.

Yuri shrugged in response, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Sort of, I guess."

A silence passed between them then, but it was probably the most comfortable silence they'd shared ever since Viktor had left to Hasetsu. Nobody said anything, but there was no pressure to- and he realized with a jolt that Viktor was doing exactly what Yuuri had said and was trying to meet him halfway. Yuri's head snapped forward so that he could stare at Viktor, who stared back with equal parts confusion and alarm.

"You're whipped," Yuri announced aloud, eyes wide. "You're so fucking whipped. Holy shit."

"Language," Viktor warned, but he still seemed shaken by the proclamation, frowning slightly. "What are you talking about exactly?"

"You've got it bad for him," Yuri said to clarify, quickly adding to refute the upcoming 'of course I do' lingering on Viktor's tongue, "like, really bad. I didn't think Viktor Nikiforov could actually fall in love with anyone other than himself."

Viktor's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything, which Yuri gave him credit for.  _Meet him halfway._ He bit his tongue before trying again.

"Your exhibition piece was something else," Yuri said as a peace offering. Viktor's eyes stretched wide in surprise. "I sure as hell wasn't expecting it, and I don't think anyone else was either."

"Minako was," Viktor said, clearly fumbling for words, which filled Yuri with fierce satisfaction. "She... helped choreograph it. Why? I mean... Yuuri thought you would be mad."

"Pissed," Yuri rectified. He would have killed to be in Viktor's place, but he was tired of constantly fighting over little things like that. "But it was still an amazing performance. Nice job twisting the  _Stammi Ravioli_ or whatever. Clever."

Viktor snorted once before dissolving into full-on laughter, doubling in on himself and clutching his stomach as if it hurt to laugh. Yuri eyed him for a good few minutes until he finally calmed down enough to force out an explanation, "It's...  _Stammi Vicino._ But now I really want to get a  _Stammi Ravioli_ tattooed onto my back in honor of that."

Yuri rolled his eyes before smacking Viktor harmlessly in the side of his head. "Shut up, old man. You're grasping for threads in the humor department."

"Probably," Viktor agreed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "But, thank you. It took a long time to get Yuuri to trust me enough to carry him."

"He's heavy as hell," Yuri muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Yuri said quickly, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling again. There was an elephant in the room that had yet to be addressed- the peace treaty expired tonight, which meant he finally had to bring it up. He knew Viktor wouldn't, seeing as he liked to avoid conflict, but that had been the problem back in Russia. Both of them constantly avoided the problem. Yuri sighed before speaking slowly, "About the Skype call-"

"I'm sorry." The words fell out of Viktor's mouth before he could even finish his sentence, and when Yuri glanced at him Viktor was suddenly reaching forward and grabbing his hands desperately. Viktor had always been physical, but this was a bit much- he guessed he'd gotten used to it with Yuuri, though. "I'm so sorry, Yurio. I should have never said that, especially not in front of Yuuri, and definitely not as a threat."

Yuri was so floored by the apology that he could only open and close his mouth once in response, but Viktor didn't need any comments. He continued to ramble off apologies, and Yuri noticed with surprise that the man's fingers trembled slightly. Guilt seemed to radiate off of him in waves-

Yuuri must have  _torn into him._ Yuri quietly reminded himself to never get on Yuuri's bad side.

"There's no excuse for what I said," Viktor continued, dropping his gaze. Despite the onslaught of his words, he sounded completely honest. It was probably the most emotion Yuri had ever seen him display. However, once the initial shock rubbed off he was left feeling empty, like Viktor hadn't really apologized, and it was a weird feeling. 

"Then why did you say it?" Yuri tried to keep his voice from sounding accusatory, but it rings with a little bit of hurt that Viktor picked up on immediately. Yuri bit into his cheek, adding, "Because yeah, it kind of sucked a lot. For all the things you said, and also because you think I'm anything like him."

"I don't think that." Viktor's words were hard, leaving no room for argument. "I never thought that you were like your father."

"Why else would you bring it up?" 

"Because," Viktor said, and finally he hesitated a little, his eyes flashing with uncertainty, before he finally came a decision. "Because I knew that you were Yuuri's soulmate. And I was jealous, and immature, and got caught up in my own stupid desire to protect Yuuri."

"You  _knew_?" For a moment terror slices through his mind- had Yuuri told him even though he promised not to? He wouldn't necessarily blame him because it was a heavy burden to carry, especially since Viktor was his soulmate, but... it hurt.

"I found out from Chris," Viktor explained, and suddenly everything seemed to fit. "He was the one who pole-danced with Yuuri at the last banquet. We were talking about soulmates, and I mentioned that Yuuri was mine and he was really confused. He said he was certain Yuuri's soulmark was on his back, but I knew for a fact he had one on his chest. When he said it was a pair of wings, I knew it had to be yours that he was referencing, so I thought he had seen you- but he never mentioned any scars. I asked him to show me a picture, and there it was." Viktor took a quiet breath. "Right there in front of me the whole time."

Yuri, in spite of his anger, could only imagine what Viktor had felt then. Not only had he been complete unaware of his soulmate's extra soulmark, but that soulmark had belonged to his own former rink-mate, somebody he had lived with. It had been right under his nose for months and he'd never known. And on top of that, he probably hadn't figured out that they were both aware of their marks until that very Skype call, which had happened only minutes after his conversation with Chris-

"Shit," Yuri breathed. "That sucks."

As much as Viktor's words had stung, and the bad memories they had resurfaced, he was starting to understand. Viktor, as talented and fucking crazy as he was, was still a human at his very core. He got caught up in emotions just like Yuri and Yuuri did, and he lashed out when he felt caged. He could only imagine the chaos that had ensued after the Skype call, when Yuri had left Viktor thrown about his soulmate and his friend knowing about their shared marks and not telling him, coupled with Yuuri's sudden new information on Yuri's father. That sounded like a train wreck, and he was secretly glad he had avoided it. 

"It did, but that's no reason for me to lash out at you and tell your secrets to Yuuri without your permission." Viktor ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, and for a moment he looked a lot older and a lot more tired. "It was childish of me. So was my trying to force you to accept your soulmark. Know that no matter what you chose I'm still going to be there for you- everyone on the ice is family to me, but those back in Russia are especially important. I was trying to protect you from yourself, but I only hurt you more."

"I..." Yuri nearly choked on his words and scowled, staring at their crossed legs, "I'm sorry, I guess, too, for acting like a kid and then expecting you guys to treat me like an adult. And for not telling you about the mark."

A beat of silence passed and then Viktor gently took his hands again, which he had dropped to run his own through his hair tiredly. His hold was gentle but firm, and prompted Yuri to look at him. 

"Don't apologize at all," Viktor said, his voice quiet and serious, a swift change from its usual lightness. "You'd been fighting against your soulmark since your dad left, and I had no business getting involved. When Yakov told me I just wanted to help, but as time passed I started to get too invested and made it a personal goal, like I was competing for something, which isn't fair to you. You were going through something really hard, and if there's anything I regret most it's that I wasn't able to be there to help you through it.

"So," Viktor continued, drawing in a breath, "if you ever get like that again, were you want to hurt yourself or get thoughts like that, please tell me. I don't take a lot of things seriously, but you're family and I do take that seriously. I swear that I won't force any of my ideals on you again, nor will I bring up your father unless you want to talk to him. And I know that you're nothing like your father. That's why I decided to trust you with Yuuri tonight."

Yuri stared at him in silence, shaken to the core by the sincerity of Viktor's words. All this time Viktor had been nothing but distant and cheerful, and now he was exposing a vulnerable side, a side that likely only Yuuri and a few others had seen. It was intense. And the fact that he'd been taking steps to fix himself, that he actually cared- it was the biggest thing he had ever seen Viktor Nikiforov do. But he was grateful.

"Well," Yuri said after the pause, a smirk cracking at his lips, "that was awkward as hell."

 _You're forgiven, so stop blubbering_ , it said. Viktor understood immediately.

A wide smile burst onto Viktor's face, and instead of being the usual guarded grin he usually wore, it was bright and real. He reached out and hugged Yuri tight without any further warning, laughing (or was it sighing?) with relief. Just like that he had returned to his usual lighthearted self, and Yuri had to say that while he appreciated the intense Viktor's honesty, it was a bit stifling being serious all the time. Yuri pounded on Viktor's chest with his fists until he let him go, but Viktor still vibrated excitedly, wiggling his socked feet like an overwhelmed puppy.

"Also," Yuri added as Viktor grinned at him expectantly, raising a finger, "just because I forgave you doesn't mean I'm letting you have Yuuri."

"Have him?" Viktor raised an eyebrow, smile faltering a bit. "Why can't we share?"

"Are you honestly telling me you want to share that  _katsudon_ with me?"

Viktor seemed to contemplate it before he grinned slyly. "Probably not."

"Exactly."

"However," Viktor amended, lifting his head proudly, "I am going to win our dear Yuuri's affections, I know that for sure."

"Are you now?" Yuri lifted an eyebrow skeptically. "How are you so sure?"

"Well, I always win at these kinds of things." Viktor gestured to his legs, which still sat proudly on the edge of the couch, and Yuri scowled. "And I'm also older and have more sex appeal. You're barely fifteen-"

"Like I give a shit-"

"So you have quite a bit to learn." Viktor is full-blown grinning now, his cheeks stretched from the size of it. "Also, I technically saw him first."

"Technically, you're wrong," Yuri mocked. "I actually met him first, at the Grand Prix last year. I saw him crying in the bathroom."

Viktor gaped at him. "Liar."

"Ask him," Yuri said with a shrug, crossing his arms over his chest. "I got to him first.  _Katsudon_ is gonna fall for me, not some old man with thinning hair."

Viktor threw a pillow at his head and Yuri retaliated by stuffing it back in Viktor's face, and after a short disruption where they exchanged pillow suffocation trials, Yuri leaned back and stretched across the couch, pressing his feet into Viktor's chest mercilessly as Viktor gasped for air. "I win."

"No way," Viktor gasped, pushing Yuri's legs off of his chest and catching his breath. "How about this- we settle this like Russians."

"I'm too young to drink alcohol, Viktor, that's not fair."

"Damn." Viktor scratched his head, having fully regained his breath. "Then, next season- whoever wins as Worlds gets the right to ask him on a date first. We're both skaters, right?"

"And I beat your short program score by a fucking landslide," Yuri reminded him smugly, tucking his feet in to his chest. "Get ready for one hell of a season, Nikiforov."

"I was born ready, Plisetsky," Viktor responded, tapping his soulmark proudly. 

And while Yuri was usual bitter about Viktor flaunting his soulmark, he felt a surge of pride rise in his chest from the one that stretched out across his back. It no longer made him weaker because he refused to let it- instead it would be what kept him strong in the months to come. He would fight for it because it signified the person attached to it, and he would carry the world on his shoulders for him in a heartbeat if he had to. 

Or, you know, slam five-time gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov at Worlds in order to impress him. They were about equal tasks in the end.

Aside from that, he got to look forward to a date with Yuuri after this, since he'd beaten him. It suddenly felt a lot nicer to be alive. 

"Joking aside, though," Yuri said as he stared up at the ceiling, chewing his inside cheek, "it isn't really up to us, is it? Who he falls for?"

"Of course not. He could end up falling in love with Phichit for all we know." Viktor laughed, leaning back to stretch his arms over his head. "But the winner does get a shiny gold medal to show him, don't they?"

That was all the motivation Yuri needed, then. Beating Viktor at his own game and having a shot at impressing Yuuri?

Two birds, one shiny golden stone. _It's on, Nikiforov._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter last edited/revised: **feb. 20 2017** for TYPOS only


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